


Creative License

by redphlox



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: F/M, secret dating au, soul touches a boob au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-04 05:38:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6643537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redphlox/pseuds/redphlox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Soul and Maka "compete" in a cut-throat internship program for a permanent position at the television station, the pair finds that hiding their less-than-platonic relationship isn't as easy as they had originally planned. It's bound to blow up in their faces, of course - how long until they're caught kissing in the office? Secret dating AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> here is chapter one of my secret dating au for soma week 2016, aka ‘soul gets caught touching maka's boob’ au. shoutout to @sojustifiable, @professor-maka, and @lunar-resonance, @thefishywitchy, and @chaoticlivi for commentary and beta things <3

The first time coffee cascades over the sides of a coffee mug he refills, it’s because Maka tilts her head at him to beam in gratitude. The flesh covering the curve of his thumb and back of his hand suffered the most, instantly reddening. Angelic green eyes delayed the initial pain of the burn while something in his chest clicked into place, like music being unmuted, like a needle finally being placed on a record player.

But after he decided he needed to know more about the red-ribboned college student mulling over highlighted textbooks, his nerve endings caught up, shrieking almost as loudly as the glass shattering on the black and white tiled floor when he released both the pot and her mug.

Soul had never been the type to believe in mushy, feelsy things like love at first sight, but the hum vibrating within his bones signaled that he’d been proven wrong. Maka had sealed the deal by nursing his lobster-red skin, grinning brazenly as she sequestered his phone afterward to enter her number under the pretense of ‘wanting to keep in touch with her patient.’

He'd fallen fast, and he still gets dizzy, even half a year later.

After all, she had caught him off guard. If he hadn’t detoured toward the blanketed figure camping out on the couch on his way out the door to deliver an order of sprinkled donuts, he might have never met Maka, but he did, and he definitely didn’t make it out unscathed.

“Looks like I got your attention,” she had giggled as he locked up the café. Though midterm week was on the horizon, Maka had abandoned her nonstop studying marathon, lighting up the coffee shop with her cheery disposition. By the end of the night, despite the fact that they had never met before, he had opened up like a book and she had read him eagerly, nodding understandingly at his ramblings of insecurities, and sharing her own.

They’re the unlikeliest pair - ambitious broadcasting major and passionate feminist rallyist canoodling with the youngest slacker son of lucrative musicians. Between a twenty hour a week job and pulling all nighters to set the curve for all her exams, there hadn't been much wiggle room for time together, so their relationship hovered in purgatory, but now that she’s graduated (with honors, of course), he’s eager to see where life takes them. Together.

But today, Wes walks through the coffee shop’s doors, and Soul’s reaction includes stringing together a colorful array of curses and shoving his forearm under cool running water. Burn number two isn’t as fantastic as the first one, if he’s allowed to be truthful. This time Maka isn’t around to mitigate the sting with butterfly kisses or help him clean the shards of glass scattered on the area carpet.

“Little brother,” Wes starts, clearing his throat in the way he always does when he’s about to propose a steaming pile of bullshit.

“No,” Soul interrupts, resisting an eye roll. He’d go blind with sass.

Adjusting his tie, Wes goes on: “Listen. I have a grand opportunity for you.”

“You’re not allowed to be back here. Employees only.” He tilts his head toward the lopsided red sign nailed to the withered wall.

Unfazed, his pretentious older brother takes half a step back to remove himself from the break room. Soul scowls at this but sighs, relishing the relief that the water provides. Smartassery is genetic and there isn’t a thing he can do to kick Wes out.

“Anyway. I'm starting an internship program at the tv station. I think you'd be the perfect candidate. And it would help you get in our grandmother's good graces again.”

“Okay, _Oprah_ ,” Soul snarls, turning the faucet for colder water to no avail. “I'm glad you're using your business for good, but I'm not a charity case.”

No signs of distaste tarnish Wes Evans’s television ready face. Years of being the center of attention because of his branching business ventures, all stemming from a performance based childhood, have shaped his poker face past the point of perfection. The recent focal point has involved setting up a television station in response to disparaging remarks from theatre critics about his ‘unfounded rising fame and wealth for someone with one mediocre talent - acting.’

So, of course, Wes’s solution was to aim big and take over the media.

To say that the Evanses are motivated by spite would be only the tip of the iceberg.

This is why, whatever Wes has to say, Soul is digging his heels firmly into the ground and has already decided to refuse wholeheartedly. It’s not a secret that their grandmother unabashedly voices what the rest of their family members think of Soul’s choice not to enroll in a four year college: he’s wasting his talent. Hell, he’s yet to prepare for anything aside from mixing up customer’s orders.

Open mic night is the only reason he hasn’t turned in the signed pink slip he has stowed away, prepared to quit the minimum wage paying job. While he had nurtured a special kind of hatred for piano recitals, the dimmed makeshift stage of the coffee shop isn’t a fraction as intimidating as all of the prestigious music halls his parents had booked him to play. Strumming the guitar for an almost empty room that mostly only consists of Maka’s iridescent green eyes among empty chairs is a thousand lifetimes’ worth of happiness.

That’s thanks to Maka, too. Four days into retail hell, he had been boiling with misanthropy, clouded by negativity about his uncertain future. But meeting her on the fifth day changed that - staying would increase the chances of running into his dainty green-eyed crush, who can demolish him in arm-wrestling and squat him, though none of these are arduous feats because he’s primarily bones and (now burned) skin. What adds to his weight the most is probably the disappointment with life that he lugs around like a medical tag.

But he’s okay; he’s okay. He can take some bad with the good, which now outnumber the former.

Usually Wes’s booked schedule doesn’t grant enough breaks to pay Soul a visit, so his unexpected appearance in his workplace is more than suspicious. To add to his annoyed discomfort, Wes isn’t budging - silence fills the spaces between water hitting the sink, his gaze a combination of concern and defiance.

“Fine,” Soul relents, choosing to fixate his attention on emotional pain rather than the ache blossoming across the sensitive burn area. “Tell me more.”

“Thank you for giving me a chance, little brother.”

Playing along, Soul sings a falsely enthusiastic “no problem!” Wes’s game of politeness is a facade, a mockery of their first class (read: snobbish) upbringing. While the siblings don’t share much in common, this characteristic - tongue in cheek, unapologetic, uncensored sarcasm - is one of their strongest bonding pastimes in addition to comments about their facial likeness.   

“I think you’d be a perfect candidate for my new program,” Wes continues, professional tone taking over. “It’s a four month long internship, sprinkled here and there with fun socials, like the gala I’ve been planning. This would be the perfect way to get you a ‘real job,’ like how Dad wants without outwardly playing favorites. I have to pretend to be fair, you know.”

“That’s soooo very nice of you, but how are you going to explain that I’m your brother and the fact that I’m not really going up against any competition?”

Wes chuckles. “We’ll just not mention your last name. And I never said there wouldn’t be other interns. I was picturing two interns, and keeping only one: you, my flesh and blood.”

“That’s messed up. I don’t even want to work with you,” Soul grumbles, a metallic, sour taste sticking in his mouth. Having to be babied isn’t his ideal way to slug through life. “What if the other person is actually interested in television bullshit?”

Ears ringing, everything falls into place all too quickly for Soul, who lives in perpetual state of mistrust, always doubting even the smallest and most trivial of his intentions. But this idea is too perfect to be marred by flaws. He knows a certain huggable, freshly out of college nominee for the internship. Maka’s long term goal in pursuing a degree in broadcast is to be a news anchor so that her audience for spreading the feminist, social justice warrior agenda is wider. If he convinces her to apply for the program, she would be a shoo-in to fill the role of his rival, and he’d purposely mess up so thoroughly and epically that even Wes wouldn't be able to turn a blind eye.

Maka’s dreams would come true, Wes would be appeased with Soul at least trying and would have a new, dedicated team member, and he could go back to underachieving.

It’s a foolproof plan.

“Family comes first,” Wes is saying, nodding sagely. No shameless wit decorates his words. For a second, Soul almost feels guilty for using his brother’s generosity as leverage to aid Maka’s seemingly fruitless endeavour to find employment in the industry. It’s dishonest, unfair, and an alarming, gross level of underhanded manipulation. None of it is intended maliciously, however, and this pacifies all of his worries. When the internship is over, he’ll come clean. Knowing Wes, who has never yelled at him despite being twelve years his elder, everything should end happily.

“I guess.” Soul shrugs, not wanting to appear too eager.

“And, we could spend more time together,” Wes goes on. “I feel like I haven’t seen you more than five minutes in the past year, and we live together!”

“Well, that’s not a lie…” A vital part of him shrivels up for causing his brother to cringe guiltily; he harbors no ill will for the lack of quality time together. Starting a television station in vengeance requires every bit of energy and seconds of sunlight a day can offer. Soul’s been nothing but a silent, pom-pom waving supporter, so saying this is the equivalent of killing his brother slowly with poison. “I mean, I get it, and it’s okay.”

Wes doesn’t look okay, though. “Ah, I promise that’ll change! We’ll hang out more, especially at the gala!”

If using this favorable circumstance to secure his scheme of getting his almost-girlfriend a job is the one way ticket to hell he’s been looking for, he’s sure there can’t be anything worse than making his brother feel like the worst shit to ever walk. “Cool, then,” he manages.

“You have to really try, though, okay?” Here comes a lecture. Wes’ features soften in the way they always do when he’s preparing to give a thought out motivational speech. He lowers his voice: “I’m not just offering this to you because you’re my brother. Please give it your all, okay?”

This is Wes’ way of asking for something in return, and true to his mother hen nature, the request would reap him no personal benefits. His wish is for Soul’s contentment.

It makes Soul feel like trash. “Okay,” he says noncommittally. Though there is nothing more certain in the world than the fact that Maka would outshine him in anything (except singing, probably, because she was born with a set of broken bagpipes for vocal cords), he can’t ever be too confident. It’s a precaution.

“Great! I’ll email you the application, and I’ll make sure my assistants give you a call and add you to the gala invitation list.” Wes winks, his charisma back on. Nodding his goodbye and strolling out the door, he tacks on a, “you look super adorable in that apron, little brother,” before Soul can stick his middle finger out as a comeback.

That’s that. He’s sunk to a new low, using his brother’s victories to help out someone else, but the more he thinks about it as he stares at the stream of water sliding over his now salamander pink forearm, it’s not a wicked plot at all. Although tender cheek pecks and excessive, much needed hand-holding when there is a breath to spare are symptoms of a serious relationship, he and Maka have been hesitant to assign a label to whatever it is they’re doing. He figures he can be hopeful, seeing as she has a handful of extra moments to gift him. Living at home with her overprotective papa is only another factor in a long list of reasons they haven’t exactly gone ‘official’ - the one time he had unknowingly met the overzealous red headed man, Soul had instantly disliked his way of leering at women, and hadn’t concealed his disgust.

Their bickering - Soul verbally kicking out the creep while the offender named all his rights to stay ‘with these beautiful ladies’ - summoned Sid, the manager, who apologized to the patron and shooed Soul to dish duty.

Until Maka waltzed into the coffee shop along with the gentle chime of the bell hanging above the door, making a beeline to the man who had sweet-talked himself into joining an all-women’s book club discussion, he had no idea the obnoxious flirt was related to her. But as soon as Maka’s face contorted in indignant rage, an echo of her heated rant about her unfaithful papa played back in his head, and watching her peel the grown man away from the group of giggling women hadn’t been fun, not in the least.

Just as Soul begins to draft a way to steer the conversation in the direction of the tv station to Maka, a disgruntled customer pokes his head into the break room. “I’ve been waiting for ten minutes! Can I get some service?”

“I’ll be right out, Ox,” Soul monotones, having dealt with this particular college student slash conceited jerk fifty times too many.

Soon he can quit this tortuous job, and he’ll be able to run his fingers through Maka’s hair more often.

He’s sure she won’t say ‘no’ to the internship.

X

“No,” Maka says easily, attempting to mollify him by pecking the peak of his nose.

He’s shocked into numbness. “Are you serious?”

“Yes, Soul! I’m not going to pretend to compete with you - it would be risky. Someone could find out about _us_. I appreciate your thoughtfulness, of course.”

Hands slowly glide up and down his sides, adept fingertips trespassing under the hem of his button up to rub slow circles into the sensitive, excited skin of his belly. It’s laughably pathetic how easily his knees buckle at her touch, like they’re one hundred percent cardboard. She’s a formidable force, and he feels like every atom of his being was built to bend and mold to resonate in harmony with hers.

Infiltrating his many defensive walls and reticent demeanor to figure him out had been a straightforward task for Maka Albarn. At the end of the third week of meeting after hours at the coffee shop, she crossed the flimsy barrier between friendship and relationship by lacing her arms around his neck, reeling him in for a twenty-minute lip-locking conclave. Clumsy, accidental biting progressed into rhythmic movements, noses no longer clashing, breathing more stable than choppy.

Whirlwind romances hadn’t been on the top of his bucket list, but the introduction of Maka into his life has changed his priorities. Cuddling with her in the safe darkness of the coffee shop are what gets him out of bed, even when he’s slept four minutes and is tempted to tear off his smock and storm off. The struggle of finding a location to meet up forced them to take advantage of the fact that Sid trusts Soul enough with a key to the coffee shop. Because he hadn’t made the best impression on Maka’s papa and because he didn’t want Wes invading his privacy if he brought a girl home, this was their last resort.

It’s like a dream, being alone with Maka, only seeing her at night. Sometimes he questions if she’s real, but then she verifies her existence by stamping his neck with kisses and he’s perfectly reassured 

She tries this method right now to distract him, but he wills himself to gently push her away by the shoulders.

“Why not? It’s right up your alley,” he reasons, licking his lips.

“It is, but this was your brother’s way of helping you without exactly doing it.” Smoothing his hair down, she adds, “And it’s not like I won’t find something.”

He winces, hoping he isn’t walking on thin ice. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you just got shot down by six different places.”

She bristles, her fury not directed at him. “Ughh, the industry is really hard to get into! It’s their loss, they're losing out on a great hire!”

“Exactly! Wes would be glad to have you working for him. You’re definitely going to prove yourself - he’d be an idiot to still hire me when you’re around!  And... He, uh, he doesn't know about us yet... so it wouldn't be like he's choosing you because of me or anything, like he’s doing me a favor.”

Disappointment flickering across her face even in the half shadows of the café is brighter and more ominous than a pinpoint of light where there shouldn't be anything but darkness. The fear of having said the wrong thing makes cold goose bumps sprout on his arms. He’s prone to screwing up, and he doesn’t want to add letting down Maka to his list.

Maka, more aware and familiar with his feelings than he is, furrows her brows, shaking her head.

It seems like she's relenting. “True...”

“And,” he says, trying to sound more optimistic than he's ever felt in his life, “and, and… The email I got said it was a paid internship. So you could quit your nerdy library clerk job. 

She looks torn. “The experience would be invaluable, too…”

“And, and, and - Wes said there was going to be some kind of gala? You could use that to network!”

Maka grins “I could really use that...”

“And then there's me. We'll be able to see each other more. We can find a hallway closet to make out in during lunch.”

In a flash, she reaches up to squish a portion of his bicep together, just enough to jolt him. “Soul, seriously!”

“I'm being totally serious,” he insists, tugging on the red ribbons that hold her twin pigtails together.

She blushes a dark shade of pink, eyelids slitting. “The internship _would_ look really good on my resume…”

“Yeah,” he agrees, cupping her cheeks. She’s adorable when she’s flustered, when a challenge presents itself and she’s warming up to defeat it. At this rate, all that he has to do is wait for her competitive streak to kick in and compel her toward signing up.

“And I _do_ like secretly kissing you, it’s the best type of kissing,” she allows slyly, the exhilaration of their semi-forbidden relationship sparking a daredevil glint in her eyes. Three-fourths of him shivers, cagey, fearful that she’s withholding any specific reason _why_ she hasn’t suggested meeting up on weekends, at her school, or anywhere they could be seen in public together.

Shaky self-doubt is his foundation, and he knows it’s to blame on his internal battles, but the voice telling him he isn’t good enough isn’t quieted easily.

“And you’re going to try, right? You're going to do your best and give me some real competition?”

He gulps. “Sure…”

“Then let’s do it,” she grins, and whatever he wanted to say next melts as she quits tiptoeing, instead digging her fingernails into his arms as she pulls him down for a long kiss.   


	2. can't sleep, don't sleep

"Come in, the door's unlocked!"

Soul's never stepped within a five mile radius of Maka's house, much less marched in to haul her away. The irony is that he's the one anxious about timeliness instead of Maka. Maybe leaving his motorcycle running while he bangs on the door after she didn't answer three frantic phone calls in a row wasn't a smart idea, but it's early enough that none of her neighbors seem to be awake yet.

Twisting the doorknob and pushing the door open, Soul tentatively pokes his head inside, wary of her papa lurking about despite her reassurance that he's currently out of town, on a business trip or traveling with his girl of the week. When no one pounces around the corner with a machete, hell bent on chopping off his head (and his _head_ below the belt) in one fluid movement, bravery encourages Soul to move forward.

Sidestepping a pile of shoes by the hallway entry, he shouts, "Maka, where are you? I don't exactly know my way around yet..."

"In my room!" she responds loudly. "Follow the sound of my voice!"

And he does, like it's a siren's song and he wants nothing but to drown in it. A few steps down the hallway at the last door to the right, Soul finally reaches her. Much like the first time they met, his jaw drops open. She meets his eyes in the mirror while smoothing down the rumpled material of her flowy skirt that barely covers the swell of her rear, sheer tights emphasizing that she's been blessed with legs, legs, _legs_.

Maka turns, preening her hair. "How do I look?"

"Like you're going to seduce my brother and sleep with the entire staff to get what you want."

She swats his shoulder with the back of her hand. " _Soul,_ that doesn't make me feel better! That's not what I was going for - should I wear slacks instead?"

"Do you even own a pair of pants?"

The way her face falls is adorable. Lips part, brows shoot up into her bangs, and her eyes widen, which is incredible in itself since they're a prominent feature of her face, bordered by gilded lashes. "You're right - I don't! Do you really think this is inappropriate?"

Honestly, he's absolute garbage for cracking a joke about what she's wearing. At the age of thirteen he'd been a jerk, commenting on looks of his peers to mask the sad truth about his own self esteem, but at twenty-three, he should know better. He'd just been trying to get the point across that she looks drop-dead gorgeous and beyond stunning, but his execution was poor. "Sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I was just trying to be funny and I sounded like an idiot. You look fine, really. You look great."

Softly, she punches his arm. "Thanks…"

Snark is more natural to him than breathing: "That skirt is going to cause problems on the drive there though, because we're riding in style... on a motorcycle."

X

Three blocks away from Wes's television station, Maka yells over the drone of his Adult Bike™ that they should be inconspicuous starting right then and there, at a stoplight. Behind them, traffic pauses as she hops off, blissfully unaware of the cat calls and whistling underneath the cacophony of incessant, blaring car horns.

Maybe she can't hear any of the din because of his screaming: "Maka, what in hell are you doing?"

"We shouldn't be seen together! I'll just walk there okay? Good luck!"

Spontaneous, bold, fiercely intelligent nerds who can sashay confidently across a street packed with angry drivers who lack any reservations about flooring the gas pedal are his type. To be more specific, she must surpass goddess-level ranking by pulling this off while balancing on pointy heeled ankle boots, and her name must be Maka Albarn.

Soul stares after her, tapping the rhythm of her swinging hips with a gloved finger, wondering when he became a sinner and why he's been so both blessed and cursed to feel so deeply about someone. Until the fateful day he met Maka, he deemed attraction a lie - the very notion of kissing didn't hold any appeal.

Funny how anything can be interesting with the right person.

In order to repent for his dirty thoughts, the idea of purposely showing up late to his first day of the internship plants itself in his anxiety riddled mind. The feeling that he's double crossing the most important people in his life has been inescapable ever since Maka received a phone call from Wes's office welcoming her to the crew. While pushing her to submit an application earned Soul's collarbone extra attention in the form of soft lips whispering sweet nothings against his skin between suckling, he can't in good conscience pretend like he doesn't have any ulterior motives.

But then he remembers that his reasons don't resemble selfishness in the least, and he decides he _can_ accept any additional affectionate gestures Maka offers to show her gratitude.

To kill time, he orders a heavily sugared coffee using his employee's benefits at DeathBucks.

"Are you sure you're going to be able to close the shop on the weekends? That internship seems like it's a full time job," Sid asks, shifting his weight onto his elbow to assign him a worried, parent-like look.

"It's gonna be fine," Soul says.

Sid isn't easily fooled. "It's really strange of you to take up two jobs. I remember practically having to get you not to quit your first day. The cafe was so busy I couldn't afford to have you walk out."

"People change," he replies vaguely. In reality, losing the privilege of keyholder would mean having zero places to meet up with Maka, and he's not sure he can survive that. If he's given a choice between working himself into an early grave and dying due to a kissing drought, he'd sign up for the former.

Brown eyes flicker above his head. "Five minutes until eight… you're late."

Saluting, Soul propels himself toward the front door by pushing off the counter. "That was the idea," he says with a grin.

The commute between the two locations isn't lengthy, prompting the over-analyzing, critical voice that dwells in his skull to question why Wes hasn't sacrificed a second to drop by and check on him while picking up a latte, but he shakes his head, the thoughts slipping away. Wes's caring isn't diluted by his busy schedule - didn't he offer Soul a place in his program, after all?

It's in Soul's nature to doubt the love people gift him.

When he finally saunters into Wes' pristine office, hand roughing up his wind-blown hair so he can better fit the loafer profile, he's greeted by dangerously slitted eyes, a frown sharper than a butcher knife, and silence. Hands folded neatly in her lap, Maka sits upright, shoulders back, chin held high, nose pointing forward - every bit the professional she is, except for the glint lighting up her irises.

She's planning his murder.

His savior, a tall woman with a perennially gentle smile, appears two steps behind him, tucking a clipboard against her side. "Hello! You must be Soul!"

The nod he musters is mostly a result of throat-clenching horror - he has provoked Maka's ire, and that's the equivalent of diving into a shark infested ocean.

"Now that you're here, we can start! My name is Tsubaki, and I'll be showing you around the building!"

Innocent, overtrusting Tsubaki herds the pair out the door, explaining their duties - traveling with reporters, scribing for meetings, researching news topics, handling the equipment, and a special end-of-term project among a million other boring tasks that fail to curb Maka's fury. Soul is sure she's paying attention, memorizing every single soft-spoken word Wes' assistant utters, so the hope that Maka will forget about his tardiness in favor of listening withers away.

Maka's lips don't even move when Tsubaki excuses herself to answer a call. "You. Were. _Late_."

"I forgot something at home," Soul whispers back, significantly less cuttingly. They're standing three feet away, a safe distance that two strangers would put between each other, but she emanates violent waves of outrage.

Bristling, she snaps, "What did you forget?"

"My… keys?" Fuck.

They both know it's a blatant, badly delivered lie.

"You promised you would try! I can't freaking _believe_ you had the nerve-"

Tsubaki comes around the corner then, but he's sure he'll hear the end of Maka's sentence after work. Dread eats away at his insides like acid.

X

Wes jumps out of his office while Soul and Maka sit in stuffy silence in the waiting area, each with their heads turned in the opposite direction. Charismatic and brimming with positivity, his brother welcomes them as if he were hosting a dinner party at a five star restaurant. His charm clashes with the tension in the air, making Soul wince.

Maka is the first to risk exposing their charade. "I'm so excited to finally meet you, I've heard so many great things!"

Caught off guard for only a fraction of a second - praises from strangers rejuvenate him - and beside himself, Wes takes her eager hand, clasping it between his own. "It's a pleasure, miss! I didn't know I had so many enthusiastic fans!"

The nervous giggle Maka musters reeks of guilt. Of course she knows she has said the wrong thing. She's much too bright to commit the same errors twice, so she goes with the flow: "Yeah, I can't believe this! Can I get your autograph?"

Scrambling in search of something to write on isn't successful, despite the fact that the printers in the massive building house a forest's' worth of paper. Soul bites back a growl as Wes signs his name on the inside of Maka's forearms, printing both his initials and signature in her right, and doing the same on the left when Maka points out that she can't walk around with just _one_ body part decorated by his penmanship.

She's _too_ good of an actress.

Wes, filling his perceptive older sibling role, deciphers the grimace twisting Soul's face.

"Oh, pardon - how rude of me! Do you want my autograph too? Maybe you'd prefer this lovely lady's touch?"

Red colors Soul's cheeks, chin, - everywhere, even the space between his brows, clear down his collar. Wes's ability to read him in combination with his lack of ability at concealing his emotions are going to pose a problem for the next four months.

Fortunately, a dirty blonde teeters towards them, deep blue eyes switching between Wes and Soul in wonder.

Right as she's in hearing range and opens her mouth, Wes cuts her off: "Elizabeth, meet the newest interns, Maka and Soul! Liz is another one of my assistants, my dear interns."

She smiles - it doesn't light up her tired face, but she takes a stab at being chipper. " _Liz_ , Wes, call me Liz. And hey you two! Welcome to Hell-"

" _Elizabeth-_ "

"Wes is a good dictator though, you'll enjoy his tyranny."

An uncontrollable snicker breaks out of Soul's mouth. It draws Liz's attention, her glasses throwing a knowing glare. "Has anyone ever told you that you look just like Wes?"

"I'm not as ugly as he is," Soul is dying to say, but he shouldn't be rude to his boss, so he defaults onto his practiced fake laugh.

X

Maka looks _good_ in black tights.

Soul finds excuses to stare. It's five minutes past midnight, and whatever thoughts sprout at night don't live to see the sun, right? Specifically when they're working on their first assignment with the owner of the television company. It wouldn't be refined of him to hit on his secret almost-girlfriend during working hours.

Not that she would let him. Her Green eyes are still narrowed in irritation when they glance in his direction.

"Did we really have to wear all black for this?" he asks Wes, though his body is facing Maka, who has planted herself on the other side of the minivan. "And we parked right in front of this lady's house. I'm pretty sure she's going to notice us."

"Okay, but she talked shit about me on her talk show. I told you-" Forgetting that during business hours - which apparently include the hours between eleven pm and three am - he and Soul aren't supposed to be related when they're at work, Wes snaps his head in Maka's direction. Of course, she's in on the secret, except Wes doesn't know, and she doesn't know that Soul is only in on the internship to make sure she gets a job.

His web of lies is confusing, but Soul is still able to follow along.

For now.

Staying in character better than during their meeting earlier, Maka smiles daintily, a little too innocently for Soul's liking. "You two talked earlier? Soul doesn't seem to be too chatty… especially when he was a little late to work this morning."

Even though her tone is covered in nothing but sweet, well-meaning sugar, he knows it's a direct nudge at him. He tries to be casual: "I got here a little early for the night stalking."

"It's not _stalking_ , little br-Soul! It's called keeping up with your enemies and rivals."

"We're going to get arrested…"

Selective hearing is a mysterious talent that Wes switches on at will. "Okay, to reiterate orientation: a good employee always goes above and beyond for the company. In this case, we have to dig up dirt on this witch and bury her."

"'Cause that's not vindictive," Soul deadpans, hopelessly enthralled with the way Maka's form fitting shirt hugs her waist. Maybe the animalistic want to trace her curves with his lips stems from the fact that their relationship is secret and borderline forbidden.

"That's right," Wes agrees, unfazed by Soul's sarcasm. Although he's smeared black war paint underneath his eyes and looks ridiculous wearing a long sleeved turtle neck in the thick July humidity, he maintains the professional demeanor he's built from the ground up. "I'm getting even with her, but it's completely business-like."

Maka is skeptical. "Who exactly are we digging dirt on?"

"Shaula Gorgon, idiot talk show host extraordinaire." Digging into a backpack and retrieving binoculars, Wes shakes his head. "She's not that popular - her show was canceled, because it's below par - but I can't let her comments slide. She went on a rant about my acting career before I decided to go into the producing side of the media. But I digress. Rule number one of the industry, Miss Maka: always know everyone in the industry."

She nods, memorizing his every word. "Got it."

Swallowing the knot that blocks his throat is more than difficult. It increases in size - Soul hadn't foreseen worrying about Maka forming an attachment to his perfect, successful brother. But they're mirrors of each other: driven to prove their doubters wrong, multi-talented, personable, and witty beyond measure.

Whereas Soul is unskilled, and lacks a backbone or any special traits that would equate to all of Maka's inherent goodness.

What if - _what if she realizes Wes is the better catch?_

"This is ridiculous," Soul grumbles, chest concaving as his shoulders round out and he slumps forward. He rests his hands on his crossed legs for support in his effort to fold over and melt out of existence. Neither Wes nor Maka respond. It digs a nail into his self-esteem.

Whenever the pain of inadequacy creeps up on him, his escape is to sleep.

X

"No sleeping allowed," Wes singsongs, wiggling a finger at Soul. "You can't sleep during work hours."

He's sprawled on the floor of the van, neck stiff. Drool slides down his chin. "Gnnph?"

Maka steals a glance at him but doesn't say anything. Apparently, her exasperation with him has simmered down some.

Soul rubs at his eyes. "So sleepy…"

X

"-Don't even think she's home," Wes is muttering, disappointed, when Soul wakes up sometime later. To his dismay, Maka has wiggled closer to his brother, sitting on folded legs, more relaxed by the way she moves without hesitation, playing along with the stakeout.

"Maybe she's out having an affair somewhere," Maka suggests, hopeful and bright. Leaning forward to wrap her hand around the back door handle, she motions for him to follow. "Let's go into her house while she's gone and look for evidence!"

"I like how you think, Miss Albarn."

All of Soul's nerves jumpstart, propelling him into the air like a screeching cat. "You can't just break into her house," he's trying to shout, but grogginess makes his voice come out muffled. Aghast and already seeing the flash of blue and red police sirens, he scrambles up, ready to tackle both of them. "That's illegal."

"Welcome back to the world of the living, Soul! Sorry to disappoint, but I'm not going home until I find something," Wes says. Soul is reminded of early childhood memories of Wes teaching him how to bypass their parent's security system and which stairs creaked so he too could explore the city at night. The business life has yet to mellow out his daring tendencies.

But it's nurtured a better sense of liability.

"I have a better idea. Miss Maka, wait here - I'll go scout the perimeter and see if it's safe. We can't be too sure that she doesn't have three headed hound dogs. I wouldn't want you to get hurt on my account."

"Oh - sure!"

Nodding to each of them, Wes delicately pushes the door open, sticking his long legs out one at a time and gently lowering himself to the pebbled ground. "If someone shows up, save yourselves! I don't want you two getting caught. Actually - Soul, please sit in the driver's seat and be ready to drive away, yes?"

He leaves Soul and Maka alone for the first time in hours. Soul misses her already, even as he climbs over the console and plops behind the wheel - the distance is unbearable. It's going to be a tortuous four months.

"Sorry," he says into the space between them, glancing into the rearview mirror.

She's as still as a painting.

"I'm sorry for being late. I did it on purpose… I just wanted you to make a good impression."

"Soul - you didn't have to sabotage yourself for my sake." Now she does move, does turn slightly in his direction. None of the tense rigidness in her posture is present. She's not on the offense thanks to the disappointment he caused. If anything, she's more ethereally alluring in the half-light from nearby lampposts streaming in through the tinted windows. Maybe it's because they rarely see each other when the sun is out. Maybe it's because this is their first real fight and they're talking it out instead of running away.

"I just want you to get the job." Looking at her while raw emotions course through his blood is so _difficult_ , but he's more safe with Maka than in a room filled with cotton. "I don't know, I don't think I'm qualified for this job, anyway. I don't know anything about anything… I think Wes is giving me this chance out of pity."

Lips parted to release a breath as though she's been physically wounded, Maka slithers over to him, out of sight, but she finds the hand he has rested on the gear stick and carefully drapes hers over it, squeezing tenderly. The contact hurts - it hurts more than the thought of being on the receiving end of his family's disapproval.

Kindness in its pure form rips open wounds to heal them properly.

"Oh, I didn't know you felt like that - Soul, your feelings are valid! I don't want to argue with you, but I do want to let you know that from what I've seen of your brother, he cares about you so much."

A sting tingles in his sinuses, a sure sign that tears are on their way, like the eerie silence before a thunder clap. He clutches the steering wheel with his other hand, making sure to hold on tightly while he rides out this unexpected burst of emotion. If he were by himself, it would be scary - he's not sure what to do with his life and he's not sure how to make his family happy, but Maka doesn't expect him to fulfill any roles. She's his biggest supporter and best friend, and he's struck a bottomless wealth of luck in finding her -

The passenger door swings open, a frantic faced Wes diving into the van.

Maka takes her hand away quicker than if she had accidentally stumbled upon a mouse trap.

"FLOOR IT!"

X

A few minutes later:

"I think she saw me looking through her bedroom window… on the second floor."

"Now she's gonna say you're a pervert."

Wes curses softly. "I'll invite her to the gala and settle the score in public."

X

Deciding to call the mission short is the best call Wes makes. Soul politely asks Maka for directions to her house (because he totally remembered every second of the drive earlier that day, but their secret is at stake here) and drops her off.

"Wait, before you go, I wanted to announce the end of internship project!"

Soul braces himself for the worst.

A voice yodels from Maka's house: "MAKAAAAAAAAA~"

Every precious moment with her replays in front of him at lightning spee, because Soul is sure whiplash has broken a few vertebrae. "Papa, stay away! I'm working!"

Too much happens all at once. Soul can't pick what to concentrate on. Everything slows down when as glee brightens Wes's features.

"Jr. Anchors! You'll have three chances to be anchors for a news channel!"

Soul wishes he could press the pause button on time so he could reach out and grab Maka's hand. He's so scared.

X

They meet in the darkness of the cafe when Soul is able to sneak out of the house he shares with Wes.

"Are you okay?"

Vomit gurgles up his esophagus, but Maka's half-shadowed face is too close to his, and he doesn't think she would appreciate bile staining her blouse. "Mhmmm…"

She takes a long breath, taking his hands. "You don't have to be brave for me. I saw your face when Wes told us about the project - you don't have to do this, you know."

Forcing his best smile, although a shaky one, he shrugs. "I'm not doing this for you, remember? It's for me. I got this."

He'd do anything for her.

He's going to go through with it for her.


	3. sprinklers

[warnings: kissing, soul touching a boob, possible second hand embarrassment for the reader]

_X_

Operation: 'Screw Up, But Not Too Much' is well underway a week later.

To avoid detection, Soul and Maka never glance in the other's direction longer than two seconds or stand in the same room if it's not necessary (or without supervision), and have spoken less than three complex sentences to each other.

Wes has taken up pestering Soul about it. "You like her, don't you?" he teases one night as Soul lounges on the couch, barely making it home after a fourteen hour day. Working at the TV station and closing the coffee shop has him hearing shadows and seeing sounds. "It was so obvious that one night we went undercover. This is so cute - my little brother has a crush on a charming young lady. I'm beside myself."

Soul rolls his eyes at his brother's baby talk and braces himself for lying. "I don't like her, she's such a goody-two-shoes... Can you find the remote for me? I can't feel my arms."

"You're so obvious, little brother. You stare too long. I bet if a parade of strippers gave you lapdances, you'd only have eyes for Maka."

"Just turn the tv on, okay? I haven't slept this whole week, I'm hungry, and I'm missing Meister vs. Weapon."

Wes does as he's told, but not quietly. "Soul, just so you know, as your brother, I'm cheering you on for some good necking, but as your boss... it's my job to inform you that office romances... are prohibited."

"You won't have a problem with either of those," Soul says, but his skin crawls, clammy with dread.

"It's in the employee handbook."

Rules are designed to be broken.

"Hey, what do you think of the final internship project? Pretty neat, huh?"

Rolling off the couch is Soul's last line of defense against things he doesn't have the capacity to deal with currently. "I'm going to sleep…"

X

Mistake number one happens on a Friday, when they're accidentally alone in the kitchen.

The hum of the refrigerator vibrates in the air, filling the space between them with tension, increasing their hyper awareness of each other's presence. Pretending not to know Maka is a few steps below walking barefoot on thumb tacks: physically and mentally anguishing. She's a radiant magnet - her pull is overpowering, stronger than a current, rousing like an electrical shock, and inescapable. Soul thaws when she's near.

She's spunky bordering on foolhardy. Clicks of her heels announce that she's quietly stood up from her chair at the round table across the room, sashaying towards his end of the break room, where he's nestled next to a wall. From the corner of his eye - he's focused on repeatedly reading the same word on the back of his energy drink nutrition label to sidetrack worshipping the sheer black pantyhose accentuating her thighs - he's aware that she has her eyes set on him, and that makes him nervous.

And the _skirt_. That makes him nervous, too. And the white button up with the ruffle-y things by her chest. Secret dating in an office setting has reduced him to a hormonal, needy, regularly excited fiend. Never in his life sans Maka did he imagine he'd experience attraction, but here he is, wiping sweat off his forehead while wiggling to relieve a fraction of the arousal-born discomfort in his slacks.

"Hi," she greets, pushing back a few stray bangs. "Mind if I sit here?"

"Uh, sure…"

It's his fault that his eyes follow her hands as they glide down her rear to smooth her skirt before she sits. And his dirty mind is to blame for not allowing him to carry on an innocent conversation with his co-worker slash intern rival. If anything, they should keep the other at a distance in the spirit of feigning this business-only relationship, but soon Maka's hand snakes over the curve of his knee like it belongs there.

Pulse pounding in his ears (and below his belt), he scoots away. "Maka," he hisses, voice scratchy. "We're at _work_ , and we don't know each other like that, remember?"

"You look so cute in a blazer," she flirts, leaning toward him, winking.

" _No,_ " he cries.

She laughs, the sound a soothing melody. "It's okay, no one's around. What they won't see won't hurt them."

Part of him - probably the animalistic side that is driven into a frenzy at the sight of her slender ankles - accepts her reasoning. Most of the staff, including Wes, spend their lunch hour outside of the building, but Soul's too iron-fisted with his money to throw it around on overpriced salads from overrated restaurants. Usually, he nibbles on the burritos Maka packed for him in the deserted break room, living up to his anti-social reputation.

But Maka's found his weak spot.

He's feeble when it comes to asking for more of her touch. So he doesn't shy away when she gives him _a look_ he's never seen before. Their time in the cafe has never involved anything more risque than soft kisses above the collar bones that leave him wobbly-kneed and fond of the shyly innocent satisfied smile on Maka's face. But this _look_ embodies carnal want.

She reaches out again, hands hovering a few inches above his knee cap, asking for permission.

He nods once.

Pinpricks of fire spark everywhere her fingers graze. This is probably how he's going to die - hot, bothered, pathetically holding back a gasp even though she's barely tracing a line up his thigh.

"Breathe," she whispers, commands. When did her face get so close to his? Lightheaded, he vaguely decides that dedicating room in his mind to wonder isn't as important as focusing on her adventurous, teasing hand. Rubbing light circles into the fabric of his grey slacks has him seeing twinkling stars underneath his fluttering eyelids.

And just when she's _so close_ , it's over.

He flinches, ramming his head into the wall.

Pain traverses his skull in vine-like patterns. His breath catches in his throat sharply, and he's flinching away before he can tell his body to _stay put_.

"Sorry!" Maka squeaks, hands splayed over her mouth.

"Ouch," he cringes, not sure if the disappointment flourishing in his chest stems from the unresolved tightness across his pants or from his blunder. "I… didn't mean to move..."

Suddenly, the ache rumbling in his lower belly feels inappropriate as she examines his scalp. "Is your head okay?"

A warning alarm should have gone off, but even if it had, Soul wouldn't have heeded it. A faceful of small, perfect cleavage prevents his 'Wes senses' from alerting him to his brother's unexpected presence. A cough sends the pair into opposite ends of the table, Soul whistling and Maka playing with her ribbons.

Innocence is elusive.

"Time to work!" Wes cheers, tapping the door frame three times. "I have a new assignment for you two - making the gala invitations!"

x

As Soul slinks to the parking garage to mount his bike and head over to the cafe later that day, at Maka's instruction via the text sent him a minute after they they clocked out, Wes falls into step beside him. "I see you're making friends with your new coworker. She's an angel - just look at those girlish pigtails! Play nice with her, okay?"

"I'm not a nice person," he grumbles, jiggling the keys in his pocket.

"Be good to her," Wes warns. Whether he's joking or somber, Soul can't tell.

If only his brother knew the truth.

X

Maka, in sync with Soul's emotions more than he is, playfully pokes the side of his mouth, pressing firmly on the permanent indentation marring his face that most would call a dimple but he considers useless. The scent of coffee fills his lungs - the cafe is a much safer place for cuddling than the office. "It's going to be okay, I promise. I don't think your brother suspects - he would have fired us on the spot! And don't worry about the final project... I'll help you practice so you'll be the best junior television anchor ever."

He deserves nothing as angelic as Maka.

X

Mistake two occurs thirty-eight hours later.

They really shouldn't be left unsupervised.

"This is _boring_ ," Soul complains, leaning back on the rolly chair, kicking his newly shined dress shoes up onto the paper cluttered table. "They should've used voice command on their phones or something instead of making us transcribe their stupid interviews. If I have to type out Shaula Gorgon's name one more time, I'm going to rip my ears off."

Maka isn't amused. Eying his feet disapprovingly, she pokes them with the end of her pencil until he drops them to the floor. "It's busy work, but Wes is testing our will - and you said you would try, remember?" She purses her lips, puffs out her cheeks, and summons tears to shimmer in her wide eyes.

"That's low," he mumbles, adjusting his posture. "Okay, Pouty Face, I'll work I guess."

"Good," she says brightly. "Do you wanna transcribe these interviews or do you want to work on the invitations for the gala?"

"... Give me the invitation list."

The intern office is a joke compared to the lavishly furnished office spaces the regular employees use. Soul's sure that his brother decided to use a storage room and shove him in with Maka after walking in on their breakroom moment days earlier. They're surrounded by random office equipment, a fire extinguisher, and a fire alarm - the absurdity makes Soul want to run away. A confrontation at home looked like this: Wes simultaneously forbidding an office romance while coaching him through a kiss, and Soul swearing on every holy book known to mankind that nothing exists between him and Maka Albarn.

He's going to hell for sure.

Probably (and rightly) unconvinced of Soul's promises, Wes had assigned the pair the room with a blank expression he only pulls when he's planning something devious. It doesn't make sense - as their policy abiding boss, he shouldn't be encouraging shenanigans, nor should he be supplying Soul and Maka with excess time together. _Alone_. The sudden taboo-ness of their relationship has flared up an insatiable need for touching, for something that bleeds deeper than the physical.

Maka's fondness for the illicit flares up not even half an hour later.

They bump elbows each time either of them move - that's how cramped and claustrophobic their new 'office' is. One moment he's absentmindedly reaching across her side of the desk for a stapler, and the next she has him delightfully reclined in his chair, murmuring in his ear about wanting to undo his zipper with her teeth.

Striking the perfect balance between being goal-oriented and getting what she wants is no big deal to her overachieving ways. How can he say 'no' when she asked so nicely, so persuasively, chapped lips like faint brushstrokes against his sensitive ear? The door is closed and he doubts Wes bugged the room. The flowery-scent of her perfume lulls him, and in combination with her clumsy but eager hands untucking his shirt, he's defenseless and he likes it this way, a willing doormat, built to bend to her liking.

She's abandoned her chair and claimed his lap as her new seat, knees anchored on either of his sides, guiding his shaky hands to her waist. "It's okay," she reassures lowly. Planting kisses up and down his neck while unbuttoning the button nearest his chin requires nimbleness only she possesses.

Slowly, he comes alive, his blood circulating again thanks to curiosity, the freeing realization that they're tucked away from the public helping him relax. They're well hidden in the dull light that a single overhead bulb provides. He can't think straight, not when she's determined to unravel him and he's starving, overzealous, wanting to fulfill her needs and wants. Meeting her lips with fervor encourages more heavy petting, more nibbling, more roaming.

"Need to breathe," he manages to mumble. Somehow one of his sneaky hands has managed palming her chest. Suddenly, he's motivated. "Nevermind," he decides, looping an arm around her hips to reel her closer. There is so much warmth underneath her clothes - he craves a _connection_ to her. "Uh, your shirt-"

She agrees by the way she peels herself away, desperately clutching at her blouse as if she's forgotten how to take it off. Ever the most thoughtful undefined boyfriend, he yanks on the mint green fabric, instantly killing the mood when she yells and teeters, catching herself by pulling the fire alarm. Maka's screech is a pleasant hum in comparison to the siren's wails. Instead of enjoying caresses and playing a game of who can make whom moan louder, they're fumbling, Maka scrambling to hop off him as the sprinklers shower them in cold water.

In a way, the interruption of their unabashed grinding should be taken as a warning, but for the second time, neither listens.

Like she doesn't have a care in the world, Maka presses her bang-matted forehead against his, all white teeth and squinty eyes. Bubbly laughter that turns his heart into pulsing magma rolls in his ribcage. She's brimming with life, vibrant enough to ease the jitters crawling up his spine, to delete from his memory the knowledge that too much is expected of him during the course of this internship. The trepidation born from the news anchor project fades like cheap paint when she rests her hands on his shoulders.

For a moment, he and Maka are the sole inhabitants of the world, and it's like a little peace of heaven, even with the alarms blaring and distant frantic footfalls accompanied by worried, muffled voices.

Maka licks her bottom lip. "Should we evacuate?"

"Nah," he says, grinning wickedly. "We finally have some alone time."

The turbulence wracking his nerves at the thought that he and Maka are lip-locking at work and could be caught doesn't diminish the lewd feelings moving him to ask for permission to touch her. She's standing in nothing but a wet bralette. But even when she nods, he can't gather his bearings - he can't look away, can't reach out to touch with his fingertips the length of her belly.

She knows. Gently, she guides his hand to trace the lacy pattern covering her right breast. He's shaking, but Maka tells him to breathe, breathe, she's okay and so is he. It's an honor to touch what not even the sunlight does, and a brave part of him takes over, daring to make use of his other hand to glide it up along her side.

The warmth flushing his cheeks is nothing compared to the softness of her skin. He's seeing stars. First he slips a tentative finger up her bralette, then another, until his whole hand is wedged between lacy fabric and silky flesh. Maybe it's his own pulse or the drone of the incessant fire alarms, but he swears he can feel a distant rumble coming from inside her. Maybe it's all the pent up lust shredding them to bits since their relationship is officially secret.

"Keep going?" Maka's voice is thick with want and Soul isn't sure _what_ she wants, but it would be fun to figure out -

Then Liz Thompson pops in, cursing like a surprised, high sailor. Shock morphs into smugness as she takes in the scene: wet, intertwined interns, a shirtless Maka, Soul holding a bare breast, and both wide-eyed like deer caught in headlights. Soul - probably because he's been in sticky situations before, growing up in a household with severe consequences in response to disregarded strict rules - reacts first. He's quick to his feet, gently pushing a paralyzed Maka behind him to save some of her decency.

"I came to check the source of the fire because I didn't smell smoke and holy sh-"

Soul wants to evaporate. "Okay, you're supposed to run away from fires, not go finding them!"

"You two are soooo kinky, god!" Dramatically, Liz leans against the doorframe, back of her hand slapped over her forehead. "I should've known Maka was a freak - those pigtails should've been a huge clue!"

Maka makes a dying animal noise behind him.

Liz raises a sassy eyebrow. "Wanna make a deal?"

"Huh?"

"You heard me, Soul. I have a big mouth and I'm sure you don't want anyone to know about you guys setting the fire alarm off to go at it like rabbits."

His options are miserably limited, seeing as he was caught boob-handed with his coworker. It's almost like being proven guilty of a first degree murder before the trial begins. He lets out a frustrated sigh - he knows he's cornered, and he really shouldn't poke a beast in the eye when it's offering to let them escape. "We didn't make it go off on purpose," he defends, jaw so tense that forming words is a feat.

"Riiiiight." Having sarcasm used against him is like a slap to the face on top of feeling like a sinful, sex-crazed pervert. Liz continues, "I'll make it quick. I want a raise and I want Wes to be my gala date..."

Even Maka gasps. "What?"

"I can't exactly give you those things," Soul reasons. "I'm not cupid and I can't tell Wes what to do."

She's out the door before either of them can protest. "Those are my demands, Soul _Evans."_

Of course bad luck would have it that she knows about his relationship with Wes. The knowing look when they first met and comment about his resemblance to Wes make sense now. This whole idea was destined to go down the toilet, and the only thing Soul doesn't regret is the handful of heaven he had before Liz walked in.

"You wanna be paid and laid," he deadpans, nodding. "Got it."

X

Wes calls a cleaning crew to mop up the water after the fire trucks leave, gives the staff the rest of the day off, and offers Maka his blazer.

"You're soaked," he notes, apologetic. "You might catch a cold like that."

"Thanks," she says, stuffing an arm in a sleeve, a hint of puzzlement in her voice.

Jealousy clutches Soul's neck like a too-tight tie. If he had his jacket he would offer it, but he's pretty sure _she_ has it in her room. He just doesn't like how Wes has developed a weird attachment to his secret girlfriend. But he has to remain quiet, has to pretend not to know Maka.

"I'm so sorry for the trouble," Wes is still saying to her. "Oh, I know! Let me offer you a ride home in my limo."

"What about me?" Soul pipes up.

Wes barely looks at him. "I thought you rode your motorcycle up here? Miss Maka doesn't have transportation."

Even though Maka shakes her head, unintentionally spraying water droplets on Wes's designer long sleeve, she's talked into climbing into the back of the sleek black car when it rolls to the front of the building. " _We'll talk later_ ," she mouths to Soul as she ducks underneath Wes' arm, winking.

Just a few moments earlier they were so close, and now _this._

Soul kicks a pebble into the street, feeling like he messed up beyond belief.


	4. inky eyelashes

After the false fire fiasco, Wes won't shut up about Maka and her dreamlike beauty.

It's not what Soul wants because 1) he's sub par compared to his well off, talented, charismatic brother, and 2) Liz's blackmail demands must be met.

"Maka's just so cute," Wes keeps repeating later that night as Soul lets off steam by cooking dinner, floral-patterned oven mittens doing nothing but making his passive aggressive banging around the kitchen seem childish. It all goes over Wes's head, though. Slamming the cupboards shut and clashing pots together doesn't jar his brother's jovial mood in the slightest.

"I guess she's okay," Soul relents between gritted teeth.

"She's _more_ than okay! She's smart and funny and simply the loveliest person I've ever met."

"I… _guess_." It's too much. If Soul holds in his undying feeling for Maka, he may burst into flames like a phoenix, but he's not sure he'd be easily restored. But their relationship must be kept a secret.

Wes sighs deeply. "I would love to keep her as an intern, but you're my brother, and I made you a promise."

Lowering the plates to the table before asking the urgent question seems like a good idea. Soul may just throw them if he doesn't like the answer. "What… exactly does that mean?"

"What it sounds like, little brother - I'm going to hire you no matter how good Maka performs during the internship."

Surprise shouldn't incapacitate him for a few moments, but it does, because Wes has many layers, and this is one Soul hasn't been privy to in this extreme. Wes would come in first place if being a protective older brother were a global competition, but this extends way past those requirements. It's the definition of nepotism, treading into grossly corrupt territory.

"You mean no matter how bad I screw up, you're going to pick me?"

Wes nods enthusiastically. "Of course!"

A competitive streak flares up within him - he can attribute this to Maka, who would fight this injustice with both of her hands tied behind her back. "That's not really fair, Wes. And c'mon, someone's gonna find out that we're related. You should hire Maka. She's already doing better than me, and we haven't done much."

"You don't have to pretend to be humble with me, Soul, I know you hate your barista job - hey, is the oven supposed to be smoking like that?"

X

A harp ballad chirping from his phone stirs him out of a light slumber sometime later that night. "I'm mortified," Maka's voice says in his ear when he becomes coordinated enough to successfully press the green 'answer' button.

He rubs his eyes, glancing at the digital clock on the nightstand. It's not unlike Maka to call at three in the morning, but usually her tone is more cheery and less like she wants to dive off the nearest mountain. While his mind is a little too laggy to thumb exactly what she could be referring to, it's in his nature to console her. "S'okay… it's gonna be okay..."

"No, it isn't! If Liz had walked in a few seconds later, who knows what she would have seen!"

_Ohhh_. Right. The breast and fire alarm incident.

He's not sure if his face is heating up like a stove because they were caught seconds before anything more intimate happened, or if the memory of touching Maka's creamy skin literally undoes him like paper thrown in a fire.

"Uh," he says to let her know he's still listening.

"What are we going to do?"

Coughing to jolt himself clear of naughty thoughts - really, why does secret dating have this much of an effect on him? - and counting to three mentally, he burrows underneath the covers. "Guess we're going to have to be more careful…"

She releases a slow puff of air. "You're right…" By the way she falls silent, he can tell she's about to suggest the unimaginable. "I think we should… take a break. Like, not from seeing each other totally, but just at work! So that we don't slip up again."

Soul dares close his eyes and pretend she's in the room. There is a metaphorical scythe impaling itself into his heart - yeah, to say that it hurts would be an understatement, even if he logically knows that it's not an actual break up. "Uh, yeah, okay… we can still meet up at the café right?"

"Please, yes!"

By no means is it a breakup. The majority of the next half hour is dedicated to describing their clothing in clumsy detail, neither taking the leap to venture into phone sex until Maka asks him in a breathy voice what his favorite part of their alone time in the broom closet slash intern office was. They have to hang up because Soul is attacked by a fit of choking coughs that lure a concerned Wes to his room, who punches Soul so hard on the back that it knocks him into the headboard.

At least in that moment, Soul stops thinking about Maka's soft belly, which she has promised he'd see again right as Wes barged in.

So it's not really a breakup, but Soul's tendencies to fill up with anxiety still convince him of the worst.

X

Their fake break from secret dating is easier said than done.

Wes is increasingly blinded by his dreams of hosting a successful gala for the television community. Tsubaki points out that Soul and Maka are not event planners, but interns. When these gentle reminders fail to curb Wes's enthusiasm for overworking the pair, Tsubaki takes it upon herself to assign Maka and Soul internship-related tasks, adding to a list that already includes finalizing the menu with the caterer and taking a final headcount of guests.

Making an executive decision between gold and silver for the theme would be a no brainer for Soul if Maka weren't looking at him every time he turned around. But his problems aren't her fault - if anything, the way his concentration zips to a laughable zero percent whenever she asks him a simple question is probably a sign that his feelings are inescapable, and thus genuine.

Which is great, of course, until Wes switches from obsessing about the gala to interrogating Soul about Maka whenever Soul walks through the door at two am, worn down from closing the cafe.

Wes follows him around as Soul rumages through the kitchen in search for anything sweet to calm his stress. "You seem to spend a lot of time with her - what's her story?"

Soul pauses in drinking straight from the milk carton to scoff. "She's not a news article, Wes. What do you mean?"

"I mean, what's she like? What kind of food does she like? Where did she get those red ribbons she wears in her hair? Why is she so charming?"

Shrugging, Soul grabs the nearest bag of potato chips and heads for his room, deciding that he's more in the mood for salt than sugar. "I don't know. If you're so curious, why don't you ask her yourself?"

Though the sarcasm and bitter jealousy in his tone should have been more obvious than a fireworks show, Wes takes his little brother's advice, and he does so in his stream-like, suave, trademark fashion. He and Maka are eerily similar in this way - both grab the bull by the horns and yank, convinced their prowess could subdue even the impossible.

The next day, Maka tracks down Soul in his newly founded refuge - the lone hallway crowded with vending machines that no one's interested in buying from because Wes keeps the break room stocked with goodies.

"Hi - did your brother ask you to dinner, too?"

Soul forgets the game he was playing to pass time and almost drops his phone. "Huh?"

"Your brother. He asked me to dinner," Maka repeats, breathless. Despite the fact that she's pale-faced, aghast, and tormented, she's thundering across the pristine tile in heels that flood blood to body parts which shouldn't receive attention during this delicate moment. One con of finally experiencing sexual attraction is that his body isn't trained in knowing how to turn it off - is that a thing that can be learned? Is he just another lovesick fool who wants to act on his curiosity with his significant other's body?

Now's not the time to have an existential crisis. "Uh, he didn't ask me…"

By now, Maka has reached him and is dropping down to sit on the floor next to him, but Soul cuts her off. "Wait - there are cameras! Don't come closer. Pretend like we don't know each other."

Soul's strongest skills include saying the wrong thing at the perfect time without fail, so the hurt that glints across her somber face shouldn't come as a surprise, shouldn't linger like the dull throb of his fingers being caught in a door, but it does, and he doesn't know how to fix his mess ups.

"He just came into the break room and asked me to dinner," Maka explains, brows furrowed, hands at her side.

Playing on his phone and slouching probably don't do anything to remedy the situation or soothe her worries, but he's willing to keep up the pretense of not knowing each other for the greater good - getting Maka a job, a career she's been wanting since she was six. "Uhm, you should do it. I mean, Wes is just trying to be nice."

Green eyes narrow into suspicious slits. "Are you sure? Because it sounds like it's more than a professional meeting."

Soul gulps down a knot in his throat that feels like a lump of still-drying cement. "Nah, Wes isn't a creep like that. And hey, this could be a great networking opportunity!"

"Okay," Maka says in a way that lets Soul know it's exactly the opposite. It's a two syllable word that she manages to mince into an even more clipped, _cutting_ , a signal that she's absolutely done and in the process of shutting down as she retreats.

Even as she clicks, clicks, clicks away from him, he doesn't regret it - this is for the greater good, all for the charade.

He hopes.

x

It bites him right in the right butt cheek later when he texts her to ask how the dinner went.

_Okay_ , her immediate text reads.

Less than five minutes later, Wes shuffles home, and Soul pummels him with parental-like questions. "What did you guys do? What did she say? Where did you guys go? Did you kiss?"

But he's a little too obvious, a little too over the top, much too interested in his brother's life when he usually refrains from snooping for it to be innocent. Wes quirks a brow and purses his lips just as he did when he was a teenager and their mother hassled him about dating. "Nothing," he replies, shrugging, prancing off to his room.

Soul's soul dies a little. "I thought you said office romances were strictly prohibited?" he yells, sure his heartbreak is apparent.

X

He's Soul Evans: cool, calm, and collected, but only because he needs to embody these qualities if he wants to reach the optimal level of detachment.

The internship isn't anything like he imagined. Picking up coffee orders, lunch, fixing the copy machine, lugging around the news crew's equipment, and taking notes during interviews is more manual labor than Soul can bear. However, Maka's accomplished grin after work announces to the world that she's in heaven, so Soul decides he can suffer through all the tasks if she's near.

Sometimes, even her presence isn't consoling enough.

Working for his brother while pretending not to be related to him is more excruciating than any bodily harm he could wish on his worst enemy. Flashbacks of their parent's friends and respected music community members singing praises about Wes assault Soul whenever the two are in the same room at the television station. Although the reasons for Wes's fame are unclear, his prosperity surely isn't, and this in itself earns him an unlimited amount of admiration, even at the station.

"Wes, did you land that contract with the producers of Weapon vs. Meister?" a bright-eyed, newly employed transcriber asks after a meeting. She's taken up mimicking Maka's pigtailed hairstyle out of idolization, so it only makes sense that she sees the same things in Wes that she esteems about Maka: hard working, well liked, capable...

"I sure did! We've signed a new contract for us to air the new season of Meister Vs. Weapon, so it should really boost our viewer count!"

Soul wonders if Maka's star-struck by Wes, too.

Not that he's exchanged more than three words with her since the hallway incident. She's dedicated herself to all the internship assignments Tsubaki conjures up for him in addition to all the gala-related tasks Wes throws at them. Soul drifts along by doing the minimum, not because he's purposely slacking, but because he requires more direction. Creativity to spin simple directions into detailed results isn't his forte - the delay in his thinking is in part thanks to worrying about what Maka thinks, what she feels, what her going to private meetings with Wes means.

Soul and Maka haven't met at the cafe, either.

Liz corners him more often than not. "How is your mission going?"

"I really can't make Wes love you," he mutters, slumping over in his rolly chair.

She's insistent and persistent. "What about my raise?"

"I really, really, really can't make Wes give you a raise," he sighs.

She tosses her long hair over her shoulder, leaning against the intern office doorway and grimacing. "I would try to blackmail you harder, but it seems like you're losing your girlfriend to your brother, and it would be shitty of me to use that to my advantage."

Soul holds his face. "Thanks."

X

Exhaustion from clocking sixty hour work weeks finally wears him down three weeks later.

A much-missed harp melody awakens him, and sunlight flooding his room lets him know that he's slept in past noon

"Soul! Are you okay? You didn't make it in and Wes seems worried too..."

Tears would be a real possibility if he were conscious enough to feel anything. "I slept in," he whispers. "I'm fine."

Maka is silent for a moment, and then clears her throat. "Ah, I think someone's coming to the girl's room, but we'll see each other at the gala tonight, right?"

Honestly, the stress from planning the damn thing while balancing the other burdens of putting forth his best (but still mediocre) effort has made time bleed together into one never ending hell. "Yeah, I'll be there," he reassures her as she hangs up.

X

No amount of sleep can substitute as medication for the emotional debilitation years of self-inflicted doubt have tolled.

Even in his sleep, his life is confusing and haunting. He's at a crossroads that many young adults struggle to make it through. He's not sure of what he wants to do career-wise, wants love but is too shy and wary to submit himself entirely to someone without reservations about his worthiness, and is skeptical about his place in the world, if one exists. Currently, he's interning for his brother while keeping their family tie secret for the sake of serving as Maka's polar opposite, hoping that she's the recipient of the permanent job on the staff after the program ends.

If she gets the job. Soul still hasn't figured a way around that one yet. He hasn't told her, either. He has exactly zero plans, but he has some confidence he can fly by the seat of his pants.

Maybe.

The fact that he and Maka have yet to label their relationship verbally causes dread to accumulate in the pit of his stomach. Snuggling in the darkness of the cafe isn't enough - is she in it for the long run like he is? Does she feel the same way he does? Maybe keeping their romantic status on the down-low was more of a hinderance to their connection than a strategic idea to catapult Maka into the television industry?

But Soul cares _so much_ about her - he saw a way to help her when Wes offered him a position in the internship program, and Soul knew going in that it would be difficult. But now that he's missing the heat of Maka's lips on his dimple and her smile along the curve of his neck as she hugs him, fear paralyzes him - did he do the wrong thing?

And Liz's blackmail pursuit hasn't increased. She's hard to decipher - she resembles him in the way she moves slowly when Wes asks her to work, unwilling to exert herself more than necessary. Loud gum smacking after a nonchalantly delivered one-liner, usually a deadpan, negative comment about life, mark her presence. She's the type to never admit defeat, so her decision to take it easy on him is disquieting.

He rolls out of bed when the sun sets, showers, and steps into the first tuxedo he sees in the closet. The sensation of being in slacks resuscitates old, bitter memories of snooty faced audience members who purred to his parents about Wes's talents while they side-eyed Soul's piano abilities.

Once again, as he locks the door behind him and throws a leg over his bike, he remembers that he's still the same unsure, scared kid he was when he was eight, except now he's expected to act like an adult.

X

The first thing Soul sees when he rides up to the venue is the valet opening the door of a limo, and a long, long leg gracefully sliding out. He doesn't have to double-take to know that it belongs to Maka because of the well-defined calf that can be attributed to running three miles everyday and yoga, but he does anyway. Her hair is gathered at the nape of her neck, the ends curled delicately, and an achy bolt shoots through every inch of his soul. It may be idiotic of him to be longing to touch her hair, but he can't control his feelings, just like he can't help the jealousy that rips through him like a hot blade when Wes comes along to offer Maka a hand.

Driving through the brick wall could distract the pair, but what if he doesn't survive the ambulance trip to the nearest hospital? What if Wes's charm is too strong for Maka to resist and neither bat an eye at Soul's hypothetical accident?

It's better for him to lay low and sulk in silence.

Inside, after more guests begin to arrive, Liz finds him drowning his sorrows at the open ice cream bar. The red smirk she wears rivals the brightness of her dress. "Lost your girlfriend to your brother, huh?"

He can't even find his voice to tell her to shut up.

"I mean, he is kind of really rich and smart and funny and totally _hot-_ "

"He's not my type," Soul snaps before plunging more cold strawberry goodness into his mouth.

"-But so are you," she finishes, nodding at him solemnly. "Okay, maybe not rich, or funny, but maybe you're smart… at least you're hot, okay?"

"You're not helping!"

"I'm trying! The point, Soul _Evans,_ is that you can't just stand by and let things happen to you. What happened to the guy that was holding onto Maka's tit like it was his? What happened to that guy that looked like he would've done his girlfriend right then and there if he didn't have a decent streak?"

"Don't talk about Maka like she's a bag of meat, Liz. Look, we got carried away, and we're embarrassed to hell and back about it. Keeping our relationship a secret is harder than we thought, so we haven't really had time to talk-"

Liz slaps him on the back so hard it makes him sneeze. "What are you doing, then? Go talk to her right now!"

"I - well, hnng, uh, she's with Wes, and-"

But Liz is sauntering away, waving lazily and winking. "I think I saw Shaula Gorgon… Just wait a few minutes and leave Wes to me," she singsongs, merging into the throng of dancers.

Soul exhales, trying to kill the anxiety ricocheting around in his veins, and when that doesn't work, he scoops six more spoonfuls of ice cream to try and numb himself. It doesn't quite work. He unbuttons his jacket and weaves through the crowd toward the roars of laughter than can most likely be traced to Wes, if Soul's childhood memories can be trusted.

At least it's something that goes right. He pushes past a nervous Tsubaki to see Wes facing off with a sinister looking woman whose grin challenges the leer of a predatory snake.

"I'm so sorry to hear that your talk show was canceled, Shaula," Wes is saying, his sympathetic frown more of a cheeky grin.

"I've moved on to better things," he woman purrs easily, a malicious glint lighting up her eye. "I've come into contact with some magazines, and I may try my hand at writing-"

Scanning the people behind Wes rewards Soul with a sighting of Maka standing there with an uncomfortable expression. He pushes through the crowd, heart racing when he finally reaches her, admiring her long, inky black eyelashes before coughing awkwardly to catch her attention. She blinks as if she can't believe he's next to her, and he stares at her glossy lips.

"Uhm… wanna talk?" He tilts his head toward the balcony.

She smiles softly. "Yeah.."

X

Soul stuffs his hands in his pockets, trying to stand upright, but his upper back aches and he slowly sinks down, shoulders rounding out. There is a slight breeze that ruffles his hair; beside him, Maka is the first to relax, leaning against the banister, sighing happily. "It's a nice night," she says.

"Yeah," he agrees. It's the start of his courage. "Look, Maka, I'm sorry. I messed up. I didn't mean to brush you off when you tried to talk to me about Wes. I just - I just don't wanna mess this up for you. I know how hard you've had it getting a job-"

Maka's lips shine in the light as they contort. "But that's just it, Soul - I told you, don't take it easy on me just because we're together. Try your hardest on this, okay? I know you think Wes isn't being fair-"

"Because he's _not,_ " Soul interrupts, rolling his eyes. "He pretends to be all proper and professional but he's really a shit, like me."

She's nothing if not tactful. "Soul, please don't talk about yourself like that. And I'm sure there are sides of Wes that aren't great, but when we hang out, he's been wonderful-"

Hearing this is like being in a collapsing building. It's unexpected; hurt hits him before he can fathom _why_ he's shaking and seeing double, the adrenaline rush activating his defense mechanisms faster than a physical attack. "Yeah, I'm sure he's just amazing, much better than me-"

"Wha - I never said that, Soul."

He shuts down. This isn't something that he has to think about at all. He's built to lock down any emotion that could break him, and this is definitely one of those moments he dreads. While he tries to cram all the negativity back into the figurative glass bottle buried in his heart, Maka yawns, tears spilling out of the corners of her eyes. She stretches her arms overhead while he slouches, and when she notices the semi-permanent frown marring his face, she steps toward him.

"Can I just hug you?"

He could succumb to allowing the tears to rush - he doesn't know why they're there, on reserve, like they're waiting in his lacrimal ducts. But he holds his breath and holds Maka, who does weep, sniffling about deadlines and not sleeping and missing _this_ , _him,_ hating that they decided to do this because pretending not to know him _stings_.

A storm of guilt and regret ambushes him. He swallows thickly, smoothing her hair back and wiping away black tears because her mascara runs and she's just a mess. Beating himself up for adding to her burdens is natural to him - he's terrible, a demon, a good for nothing because all he could think of was Maka leaving him for Wes when she has bigger problems than that.

And he should know to trust her more than he has been.

"It's okay. We're going to be okay," he soothes, at a loss for helpful words.

Wes's timing is both atrocious and precise. The enthusiastic host pops onto the balcony abruptly, freezing when he takes in the scene: Soul's hands cupping Maka's teary face, Maka's arms tightly swathed around Soul.

"Are you guys okay?" he asks, looking between the two with many questions in his eyes.

"Yeah, we're just fine," Maka assures, looking right at Soul.


	5. red ribbons

A guttural screech that sounds a lot like Maka's war cry precedes thunderous bangs which sound like they might have split the front door into halves. Maybe it's his body sensing her proximity and reacting to it, but Soul tugs off his headphones, tensing his muscles and straining to listen. He doesn't have to wait long. Another series of clashes confirms his suspicions of an angry visitor who wears red ribbons in her hair.

Even though her voice is thick with violent indignation, he can't help but be drawn to her, even if he may be going toward harm.

"Soul! Open this door before I kick it down!"

At hearing the urgency in her demands, he leaps over the banister, tucking and rolling back on his feet to clutch the doorknob and let her inside.

She doesn't stop to say hi: "I'm going to kick your brother's ass!"

Her eyes are an inferno. She's seething, corners of her mouth downturned, sharper than a glass shard. All of his instincts warn him that she's dangerous - her fists may be shaky with a thousand years' worth of rage, but that doesn't mean she'd miss a target if she were to start swinging. She's positively bristling, green irises a thin, almost non-existent circle bordering dilated pupils, cheeks red and radiating heat, and something tells him that she wouldn't hesitate to take out some of her steam on him.

And that thought melts him into a bothered, turned-on mess.

He has no doubts that he's a masochist. The idea of reeling her in by gently tugging her pigtails blooms in his mind, of slanting his lips over hers to absorb a fraction of her fury. But it would probably result in Maka karate-chopping him into the emergency room with a cracked skull. Part of him questions if he'd mind, and he shies away from the notion after realizing that he'd gladly take whatever she offered him.

Licking his lips, he says, "Wes isn't home."

She flinches, anger briefly flickering into bewilderment. Obviously, she hadn't planned her fight very well, but this doesn't prevent her from putting down her fists. If anything, this drawback heightens her resolve to fight Wes. "I'll wait for him then," she promises, setting her jaw.

Admiring the way her gilded brows furrow as she takes on a challenge distracts him for a second. Soul is nothing but weak for this strong-willed woman who doesn't become a doormat when faced with an injustice. While he stews wordless in his blood boiling anger, withdrawing into himself and becoming embittered, Maka lashes out until the problem is addressed. He wishes he could be like this - opposites do attract.

Maka elegantly ducks underneath his splayed arm, allowing herself inside. She compliments the decor and curses Wes more all in one sentence. "This is a lovely table - real cherry wood?"

"Mhmm," Soul affirms, making a face. "Wes picked it. He picked everything in this house. I just live here."

She screams quietly.

"What exactly did my dear older brother do, anyway?"

Maka whirls around so fast that her pigtails cut the air in half. "He's such a ... a... a jerk! I stayed late after work today to finish something Tsubaki wanted me to type up, and I had to go into Wes's office to get a reference... anyway, I wasn't trying to snoop, I promise! But I found an 'official letter of employment'. And it had your name on it. Yours, Soul!"

He whistles, lowly and impressed with the turn of events. Maka finding out about Wes’s intentions hadn’t been part of the plan... Granted, Soul hadn’t been equipped with a plan to begin with, but still.

"I know you said Wes was shitty and I didn't believe you, but now I'm convinced!" She slumps into a chair, slamming her elbows on the table and burying her face in her palms. "I've worked so hard and put up with his flirting like some _idiot_ because I wanted this job so badly, and he's not even giving me a real chance! He's already decided to offer you the job, anyway…"

Saying 'I told you so' doesn't seem appropriate. Too many feelings collide and blend together for Soul to pinpoint why disgust sickens him, but he's sure that regret and blame bare the largest share of responsibility. He's kept quiet about Wes's intentions because he had some hope his brother would be too blinded by Maka's greatness to pass up the opportunity to employ her, but it seems his brother has a sleazy side.

But if Soul mentions that he knew all of this beforehand, it would guarantee another argument between them. The pair has yet to clear the air of misunderstandings, and he's not about to risk contaminating their calm by admitting that he already knew this tidbit of dismaying information.

"I thought our dinners and meetings were going well," Maka mourns, digging the heels of her palms into her eyes as if to scrub away the memories.

He takes the bait. There isn't another option. "What did you guys do, anyway? It seemed like you went to dinner a lot…"

"Believe it or not, we talked a lot about the industry. He gave me names of people who could help me out… ugh, I guess I should have known. He was prepping me for when he lets me go."

It _clicks_. Even though he wants to scoop her up and allay the poignancy of another job opportunity lost, he can't argue with this reasoning. Wes puts his brotherly duties above all else, apparently including reason, fairness, and professionalism. Soul should have _known_ this would crash and burn - all of his plans wither to ashes.

"I could probably talk him out of it." It's stupid how desperate he is for this to work out. He hasn't thought about what would happen after the internship ended. Any future past Maka getting the job hadn't been planned. All Soul could see was the end goal, but even if Maka is offered the position, would it be okay to broadcast their relationship?

"Don't." Maka is shaking her head despondently. "I'm going to quit. And you know what? I'm not even mad, because I can see how much Wes cares about you. Of _course_ he would hire you over me, you're his brother! We shouldn't have tried to do this…"

Something about her surrendering drives Soul to resist admitting defeat. His reputation for throwing in the towel without sweating is sure to be marred. "No, wait, don't quit. I'll figure it out, I promise," he pleads just as the faint rumble of Wes's Porsche cruising into the driveway reaches his ears. "It's Wes - hide!"

"Let me fight him," Maka insists, knocking Soul out of the way with her shoulder. He ignores his skipping heart (is it her touch, her assertiveness, or the dull throb that the edge of the hallway table digging into his thigh leaves that makes his blood race?) Instead of letting himself be pushed around, he puts on a brave face, lightly seizing her wrist and twirling her back.

"Wes can't know you're here, Maka, he'll know we're, uh, together, and he'll definitely dismiss both of us from the program-"

"I don't _care_ about any of that anymore! He's obviously not going to hire me, so it should be fine." She softens. "You'd still be with me if I gave him a black eye, right?"

"Of course, Maka, god-"

She smiles viciously. "Good! Let me at him!"

The sound of the doorknob jiggling and Wes's voice calling, "I'm home! I have pizza!" pushes Soul to usher Maka into the hallway closet, just on the other side of the kitchen.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers frantically, taking one look at her displeased, sour grimace. She's so furious she may just set the house on fire with the power of her mind alone. "I'm so sorry," he repeats, like a prayer, begging. "Wes can't know -"

"Soul, who are you talking to?"

He winces apologetically. "I'll be back," he mouths, watching her slump down in a pile of jackets that were knocked off their hangers when he guided her into the small, confined area. As he closes the door, her scowl deepens and she crosses her arms over her chest; he knows he's in Trouble™.

"I'm just talking to myself," he tells Wes, shutting the door and meeting his brother in the kitchen. The smell of scorching pepperoni sticks to his lungs, his tummy growling in response to Wes holding the box open like it's a ring box and he's about to pop the question. "Uh, what's the occasion?"

"Just thought we should spend more quality time together," Wes explains, grinning broadly. If it were any other time when Soul didn't have his secret girlfriend stashed away in the closet like a (murderous, cranky) doll, he would have accepted the opportunity to hang out by replying with sarcasm-coated appreciation. But now's the not the time. He has to do damage control, even though his track record with things falling into place is nonexistent. He's willing to try, though.

"I don't know about that… I have a headache," he starts to complain, carding a hand through his hair.

However, Wes knows best. "That's because you're always working. I never thought I'd say that, but here I am, telling you to calm down and relax. You've been working so much!"

"I know." Soul sees a chance and he goes for it: "Listen, I was thinking. I don't think I can work both jobs… I think I'm going to resign from the program. Uh, it's been really cool, but it's not something I want to do-"

Wes's tone is patient, but his face says 'bullshit.' "And you want to work at a coffee shop for the rest of your life?"

"Not forever - just until I figure out what I want to do."

Not responding is his brother's way of disapproving. Soul watches him drift to the cupboard to pull out two dishes for their meal. "I mean… you've been working there for a while already…"

"Guess so…"

Dinner with Wes commonly entails five-course meals at restaurants that charge a year's worth of car payments per person, so the gesture of his finely dressed, courteous brother bringing home a box of greasy pizza moves Soul. He can't feel resentful. In a way, it's sort of like being guilt-tripped unintentionally, but calling Wes out isn't an option because he's bent over backward enough.

The air is thick with a bulky, awkward silence, one that spurs paranoid thoughts to bloom. How deep is Wes's disappointment? He's been more adamant about Soul settling down than their parents and grandmother combined. Soul is sure Wes wouldn't kick him out as a method of encouraging him to look for a job that is more sustainable, but what if…?

Between the unwarranted worries and preoccupation with the pizza, Soul doesn't notice Wes stooping down to the floor.

"These look like the ribbons Maka wears," Wes notes as he stands back up, squinting. "She's just so adorable, don't you think?"

Soul curses internally. "I guess." He shrugs, biting the inside of his cheek. This isn't enough to numb himself from fear of Wes developing _deeper_ attachments to Maka, or Maka returning them. He needs to choke it down and be quiet before he makes things worse.

But bad luck tends to follow him around like his own personal flurry of storms.

"Little brother, I know I said that office romances aren't cool, but since I'm hiring you anyway, I don't think this rule would apply to Maka…"

Soul's blood stops rushing through his body. It just goes cold and half icy, like the delicate layer of ice on a lake after sudden temperature drops. Because he's his own worst enemy, always throwing more dirt on himself, forcing himself to swallow the knife, he says, "Yeah, but uh, if you don't hire her, I don't think she's going to want to date you.."

It's all for the greater good, isn't it? At this point, he's not certain his head is screwed on all the way. Maybe the lack of Maka kisses has deteriorated a vital cognitive processing portion of his brain. When he steps away from the situation, he can clearly see that he's practically selling Maka to Wes, but the greater good still stands.

Maka is more important to him, and if he has to give up and break off their relationship, he should do it. Soul isn't good enough anyway - she will eventually see this, right? She and Wes are just so _similar_. They'd be a power couple…

Soul's already writing himself off. He can't have good things, this is obvious, and this includes Maka. Ever since their internship started - since the fire alarm incident, technically - their relationship has been strained, and Wes and Maka have grown closer. It's only a matter of time. Maka may have shown up tonight to kick Wes's ass, but in Maka terms, that's affection…

Wes gawks, shocked. “So you’re saying, I should hire her so she’d date me? But... why are you insinuating...?”

Soul hasn’t forgotten that Maka’s stuffed away in the jacket closet. He’s walking on eggshells. “Well… you did say office relationships are against the rules…”

Just as Wes's face lights up with a familiar I-know-a-way-around-this expression, his phone buzzes, and he digs it out of his breast pocket, glances at the screen, and excuses himself. "Gotta take this call," he says, already heading for the staircase.

Maka wastes no time, immediately bursting out of her prison. Now, the lack of red ribbon on her right pigtail is apparent. "What the FUCK, Soul?"

He feels dirty. He _knows_ what he did, knows what he's doing, and knows that he's pushing her away because of his inferiority complex. Losing what he has doesn't hurt as much if he quits first. "I mean… you two spend so much time together already…"

She's screaming. Teeth bared, she's a wounded cat crying out against her attacker, memorably beautiful and exquisite even at her unfolding. "Because I work for him! I'm so confused. What's going on? I thought you and I were okay? We don't see each other as much, but dammit, are you - are you breaking up with me by telling your brother to ask me out?"

Reading is her passion, and she scans his face with pleading eyes, interpreting his answer just by seeing him bite his lip. She falls quiet, her chest rising and falling serenely. "I'm…" She shakes her head, one ribbon trashing along with her distressed movements.

It's her first time over. Soul's heart splinters as she fumbles, disoriented, glancing around like trapped prey in search for an escape route. "I'm not even surprised," she mutters. Is her voice low because it's cracking under the pressure of holding back tears, or because she's about to lash out? Either way, Soul's defense mechanisms have kicked in: he's numb, numb, numb, and determined to detach himself.

All for the greater good.

"I'm not even surprised," she keeps repeating, grimace quivering into a deep frown, eyes losing their fire, instead turning into glass. "I thought I could trust you, but you're just like all those stupid men who think they can change partners like changing clothes. It's _disgusting!_ "

He doesn't defend himself; he just focuses on her lone red ribbon as she locates the front door. Neither of them care that Wes could come bounding down the stairs at any moment.

"And I don't want my ribbon back!" she spits, hammering the door shut behind her with such force that the walls visibly tremble.

And he's alone again.


	6. how to handle feisty looks

When Maka glides into the television station the next day, elegant in heels and jaw-slackeningly stunning in a pencil skirt, Soul can't look away. She _knows_ she's captured his attention with the rhythmic sway of her hips. He gasps when he sees her exiting the elevator, and while she doesn't give him the time of day, a pleased smirk breaks her blank expression.

Because being ignored hacks at his heart, he decides two can't play at this game. Soul will _not_ seek out vengeance as a response to her blatant display of defiance. There is no doubt in his mind that she's sore from the argument - she's retaliating by dressing to kill, showing off what he was stupid enough to give up. He's hurt, too. He's a guilty, stubborn, childish _idiot_ clouded by self-esteem issues. Years of comparison to his perfect older brother have reduced him into a paranoid slacker who admits defeat before even trying.

But not this time. This time, he's going to stick with his plan: help Maka land a job.

"Don't talk to me," she says as he steps into the confined intern office.

"Okay," he agrees, desensitizing himself.

"I said, _don't_ ," she hisses.

So, he doesn't, he doesn't, he doesn't, but _god_ do his bones ache like they're being bent and twisted with the want to explain himself. It's not her, it's _him_. Everything's wrong with him. She's literally his dream girl, and this is why it wouldn't work out for long - he comes up short, he's not worthy. But he can still actively dedicate himself to her without being together _in that way_.

There is a hesitant knock on the door.

Soul and Maka instinctively look at each other, Maka snapping her head to resume giving him the cold shoulder.

Another knock precedes the door cracking open.

"I'm coming in," Wes's voice warns. He sticks a foot into the room, pauses, and then slides completely inside. "Hello! I'm here to explain the final project!"

Soul's stomach plummets. If he had three wishes, one of them would be for his atoms to be deleted from the universe. The other would include Maka's happiness, and her health, even if she's shaving years off his life by acting like he's nothing to her.

He deserves it, though.

When neither Soul nor Maka react, both seated rigidly, Wes's eyebrows shoot up his forehead. "Are you two fighting?"

"No, that would be unprofessional," Maka says bitterly, crossing her arms.

The sarcasm in her voice doesn't fly over Wes's head. "Oh, well, the tension in this room could kill a horse."

"Everything's fine," Soul lies, offering a sheepish grin that only proves the opposite.

Looking dismayed, his brother shakes his head, running his fingers through his blond hair. "Okay… well, for the final project, like I mentioned before, you two are going to be junior anchors for the weekend. You'll be hosting the evening news!"

An internal alarm crescendos in Soul's ears like a tornado siren until everything's muffled by panic. Wes goes on, excited about the live newscast, explaining that viewers will vote via social media platforms on which junior anchor does a better job. It's both reassuring and downright nerve-wracking. Maka should be able to charm her way into everyone's hearts with a single bat of an eyelash. Good. But on the other hand, Soul's humiliation will be broadcast into everyone's homes. And thanks to the Internet, he may be condemned to reliving what are sure to be the most horrible moments of his life, right next to Maka jumping out of the closet in hysterics.

Hyperventilating won't solve anything, but this doesn't stop his body from doing just that - noisily sucking for air while simultaneously aiming to make him pass out. Maybe on his way to the floor his head will collide with a desk, or the tiles will bash in his skull and end his suffering. These intrusive thoughts aren't new, they've always been with him, even at the tender age of six, but he's come so far, all to be undone by the mere thought of strangers judging him -

Wes is oblivious. "I'm going to have you two host together, of course-"

Maka isn't having it. "With _him_? You mean I have to work with _him_?" She tilts her head in Soul's direction, spitting out the pronoun like venom.

The confusion on Wes's face almost makes him look like a different person. "Ah, but Miss Maka, you already work with him."

"Yes, this is true," she allows, nodding respectfully. "But, this is a competition in the end, right? So we shouldn't be working together-"

"By working together, you are competing against each other," Wes says, bowing. Soul almost snorts, but anxiety clots his throat and freezes the blood in his veins. Maka's fighting her hardest to disentangle herself from Soul, Wes is pushing them together, and Soul's torn between letting Maka wash him out of her life and begging for forgiveness. Sitting next to her and not being able to rest his hand on her knee is a special kind of deprivation, worse than holding his breath underwater.

A surge of bravery strikes him. He dares look over at her, a rush of warmth flooding his chest when he makes contact with green irises.

She pouts. "I guess I'll keep working with you," she sighs, displeased.

It looks like he'll have to learn how to handle feisty looks.

X

"Wes, I'm quitting. I don't want to be on live tv."

His brother pauses in taking off his jacket, one arm half-out of his jacket. Only one word can describe the level of shock seizing Soul: unbelievable. It's like Wes doesn't know Soul _at all_. Many anxiety attacks he's suffered stemmed from stage-related fears, the kind that paralyzed his limbs, grabbed hold of his throat like powerful hands wrapping around his neck, and jackhammered at his chest. The anxiety attacks made him feel so empty afterwards, he thought he'd rather be dead than have survived.

And he doesn't want to go through that hell again

Wes forcing Soul to be an anchor is like being sentenced to reliving his worst nightmare each night for a thousand years.

"I'm quitting, and nothing you say can stop me."

Wes slips off his shoes, neatly tucking them away in the hallway closet. For a moment, Soul thinks his brother hadn't heard because he continues his after-work routine: heating up leftovers from yesterday's dinner then watering the plants on the kitchen windowsill. Soul trails after him like a curse.

"Did you hear me? I said I quit the internship program…"

Brown eyes flicker up from admiring a succulent in bloom. "Oh, that wasn't a joke?"

Soul exhales so loudly it makes his throat sore. "Yes, I'm sure. I quit. Done. You're going to have to hire Maka." Saying this aloud starts ringing in his head - this was the _perfect_ solution, why hadn't he thought of it earlier? It only makes sense that he should be able to fix his problems by doing what he's always been a master at: quitting.

"You can't quit," Wes says simply. "No, little brother. Besides, how are you going to make up with Miss Maka if you stop showing up to work? It's clear that you two are fighting, and it breaks my heart. I really doubt that she would let you come over to her house to talk to her or anything. She was so angry today - what happened, anyway?"

"Really, nothing-"

Wes slaps a hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh.

"Okay, we got into a fight," Soul grumbles, slouching as if hoping he'll sink through the floor and disappear into the dark depths of the earth.

"You should apologize, dear brother."

"Thanks for having my back, Wes. Good to know you have faith in me…"

"Oh, c'mon now - that's now how I meant it. Just talk it out."

Soul refuses to vent about the heartache caused by Maka jumping to conclusions while eavesdropping on a conversation Soul didn't handle very well. The idea of telling Maka the reason he encouraged Wes to ask her on a date sends lightning bolts of pain up and down his spine. Soul thinks she would be better off with Wes - he's more like her, and the fact that Soul has little sympathy for himself hurts.

"Whatever," he says, turning. He feels a lot like a 13 year old mouthing off to his mother. He might as well add stomping off to his room in a grandesque show of defiance.

"Wait, don't go, Soul-"

Hanging out with Mala has definitely honed a devious side of Soul. Never did he imagine he would resort to extortion, but he wants what he wants, and he's willing to do anything necessary plus more. He must have learned a thing or two from Liz, because a way to use this moment to his advantage appears before him with flashing lights.

"I'm quitting, okay Wes? It's not like you're going to be fair about this anyway. This whole time you've been meaning to hire me instead of someone who's clearly qualified. I know you're just worried about me because I work too much and I'm hella unhappy, but it's not right to take away this opportunity from someone who deserves it."

Soul has stooped to an all-time low - and it works. By the way Wes twists his mouth guiltily, Soul can tell that he's struck a nerve. Later, he will nurse his wounds for being the ultimate screw up and apologize to his brother for whipping out the Jerk Card. Right now, he's on a mission.

"You're right," Wes finally sighs, dropping into a chair at the table (the one Maka liked so much, why can't Soul forget the little details about her)? "I've been losing sight of everything… It kills me to see you work so hard and barely make anything. I wanted to help you out, but you're right, I haven't been going about it the right way."

Having a front row seat to Wes's breakdown is five thousand times more unpleasant than playing the piano in a sold out venue. His brother slumps forward, elbows resting on his knees and face falling into his hands. It reminds Soul of Maka, too.

Wes goes on, muffled, "I really do feel awful! Maka is a good girl and I know how much you care about her. I've been meeting up with her and trying to give her pointers on where to get a job, because I had already made up my mind to hire you, but the way you put it I just... I feel like a horrible boss."

Soul is less skilled at consoling others than deciphering his own feelings. Hearing Maka's name jars him a little, but he flicks the commentary to the back of his mind. "Uhm, well, Wes, your employees really like you. They love you, actually. Don't feel bad. I appreciate you offering me the job… I'd feel really bad if I didn't get it fair and square though."

Reasoning works. Why hadn't Soul done that in the beginning? Two seconds pass by in which Wes seemingly sinks deeper into his contemplation, but then he irons out his back, sitting tall and proud, just as their parents raised them. "That's perfect, Soul! Since I can't turn either of you done for the job, I'll let the voters decide. It'll be out of my hands. You don't have to quit - imagine what Mom, Dad, and Granny would say if you did? So this is the better choice. What do you think about this plan?"

Soul grins, teeth bared, cheeks aching. It was so simple. Why didn't he threaten Wes with backing out before? They shake hands and Soul's convinced he has mastered lying - he only feels a little bit terrible. "Deal."

X

Maka is less receptive to smoothing over their disagreement.

When Soul turns the corner toward the intern office the following day, he's greeted by his rolly chair and a foot high stack of manilla folders tossed out into the hallway. Questioning _why_ isn't necessary. He and Maka don't share a bed, and the only time they have slept together was once at the cafe when they dozed off on the couch unintentionally. This is Maka's nonverbal cue that he's been kicked out, cut off, shunned, banished, exiled, dismissed. His presence isn't welcome.

His heart beats erratically as he knocks on the door, hesitant. "Maka?"

"Don't," she replies instantly.

He lowers his voice. "Listen, I talked to Wes-"

"I'm sure you did."

While the iciness in her words picks at him, he's proud that she's become proficient at using sarcasm. "About the other day, uh… It wasn't what it sounded like."

The door flings open. No pigtails in sight - she's wearing her hair half up, bands pinned back. It's ridiculous that he's fascinated by how long it is when she's practically throwing knives at him. "What. Was. It. Supposed. To. Sound. Like? Because to me, it sounded like you were trying to tell Wes I would date him if he hired me, which I would never do!"

No perfect sequence of words exist to convey how much he regrets everything - everything except meeting Maka at the cafe. If he hadn't convinced her to apply for the internship and keep their relationship a secret, maybe they wouldn't be fighting right now, wouldn't be wasting precious time distancing themselves instead of moving toward the future together. But he has to fix what he's broken.

"And, you were making it sound way too easy to hand me over to your brother! What if he actually asks me out? You would have been okay with that? I'm not a toy, Soul!"

He needs to take over the reins of this conversation ASAP. "Okay, that's what it did sound like, but I was trying to do damage control, I promise. I'm just a jerk who never says the right thing."

Caught off guard at his honesty, she gawks. "Well - well, it's true, you can be a jerk sometimes. But don't talk about yourself like that!"

"I'm so sorry for putting us through all this crap."

Gulping, she visibly clutches on to her anger like a rope. "Hmmph!"

She's too adorable. He resists cupping her face and pulling her close for a quick kiss. Doing anything of the sort would probably earn him a kneecap to the crotch. "I'm sorry," he says again, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

She _almost_ relents. "Just finish organizing those papers," she says before closing the door in his face.

There is an awful hollowness in his life. Barely twenty-four hours have passed since she stormed off, but to him it's like he's missing a limb.

Maka emerges from the office five minutes later, calling him like she's about to whisper a secret. "Soul?"

He turns slowly - any sudden movements could spark her ire. One green eye peers at him through the crack in the door. "Hmm?"

"Are you still nervous about the newscast?"

"I wanna pass out every time Wes mentions it."

She pauses. "Want to meet me at the cafe after work so I can give you some pointers? I did say I would help you out, and a promise is a promise..."

" _Please_ ," he begs. Desperation is his main motivator. The prospect of seeing her outside of their work setting is enough to give him hope - maybe he can explain himself so she won't hate him entirely. Clearly, his suffering upsets her. She still _cares_.

"See you there at the usual time," she says before closing the door, this time softly.

X

The darkness of the cafe heightens the memory of their fight into something dark, something off-putting. They stand facing the other's silhouette, Soul shifting his weight clumsily. Maka's so still, he can hear her taking shallow breaths. He doesn't dare turn on the light in case a passersby becomes concerned and calls the police about a potential break in.

Not only is trepidation eating away at him like termites, worried about what could transpire during their meeting, but Maka's face is covered in shadows and he can only imagine the expression watercolored on her face. Having one of his senses diminished heightens the others; Maka's hurt is so much more _tangible_. It fills the room and saturates his skin. It suffocates. Guilt tingles at his fingertips. He wants to reach out and touch her face to convey his sincerest apologies, but he knows better. She'd swat his hand away, harden her mouth, and close herself off by crossing her arms, hissing warningly.

So he shoves his hands in his pockets. He's good at that. "Hey," he coughs.

"Hi," she says, voice slow like honey.

"Thanks for helping me out. I've been freaking out…"

"A promise is a promise," she repeats.

The night hides Soul's frown. "I don't want you to feel obligated, though."

"Just because we broke up doesn't mean I don't care about you," she reasons. "I know how scary this project is for you."

Nothing in Soul's short life has healed his heartbreak only to crumble it into twice as many pieces. _Ouch_. He screwed up beyond repair this time. Laughter tingles in his mouth. Of _course_ Maka won't want to hear his explanation after hearing his conversation with Wes. She had called him disgusting, hadn't she? Why hadn't it clicked that she wouldn't want to waste another chance on him after _that_?

Soul's nothing but abhorrent scum. He can't even focus on the monologue Maka's been shakily reciting. From the way she stammers over a word but doesn't deviate from conveying her message, he can tell she's put a lot of thought and practice into this speech. "I don't understand why you told your brother to ask me on a date. Even _he_ sounded appalled."

It seems their recollections of the moment differ vastly. When he thinks back to the conversation, Wes _did_ look confused - but Soul chalked that up to surprise that Soul was being so supportive without a hint of sarcasm. Why else would Wes make that face?

Either way, Soul's lips are sealed shut, burning with the memory of Maka's lips. He already misses her. Quitting is just too easy for him. Convincing himself that he doesn't deserve to be in her life after causing this much hell is a reflex. She deserves better than some unmotivated barista who mixes up orders and doesn't sleep enough.

Eternally thankful for the lack of light, Soul clenches his jaw, uselessly blinking away tears. At least he's trained himself to cry silently.

Maka is one to wear her heart on her sleeve, though, so she doesn't bother masking her sniffles. "I have to go," she says, bringing her hands to her face as she turns and runs out of the coffee shop.


	7. sign your names here and just kiss already

The only thing that renews Soul'sslackened pulse from its perpetual state of debility is Maka's fevered gaze.

It's true that she embodies incandescent flames. Maka Albarn would crumble to filthy dust if she didn't stand for all she believes in. She would be damned if she didn't fight tooth and nail to defeat any obstacles blocking her path. Built to withstand frustration, defeat, and even heartbreak, she's not one to put on a mask and hide - she's the type of risk-taker that charges right at the enemy, swallowing her fear with a strong-willed, ornery 'hmph!'

So when she finds Soul slumped in the darkened intern office, his hands threaded through his hair as if to keep the chaos confined to his head, warmth surges up his body from his toes. Though it's only been a week since they really _looked_ at one another, no amount of time can undo the bond they've formed. If he closes his eyes, it's like they're at the cafe again, and he can fool himself into thinking she's leaning in to peck his dimple instead of contorting her lips in worry.

Soul is anything but calm, cool, and collected. He's a magnet for anxiety, self-doubt, and failure. How he managed to attract all the angelic goodness that constitutes Maka is beyond him. It's probably the world's way of pranking him, but the fact that she instinctively knows where to find him just ten minutes before their first live airing of the evening news touches a delicate part of him that wants to burst into tears.

She knows how to string together words that would otherwise be meaningless in any other combination. It's not fair that she's gifted in soothing the chaotic pit of hell his head has turned into thanks to the final internship project. After all, he's the one who royally messed up. Not only did he willingly sacrifice someone he didn't deserve in the first place, but he couldn't supply closure, couldn't do anything but waste her time.

Forgiveness isn't something that Soul deserves, but she's been summoned by his soul's frantic wavelength like a rescue team. And he can't turn her down; he needs her desperately, needs her like he needs peace and quiet and sleep.

"Hey," she says lightly. The tension between them is expected - they hadn't broken up on a good note. Asking him if he's okay would be useless - it's obvious by the way he's swaying back and forth that he's on the verge of an irreversible breakdown. Soul loves that her voice sparks goosebumps on his skin. He's convinced that she's his main cause of fear and happiness, and that's absolutely fine with him.

Everything in balance.

Maka sinks down next to him when he doesn't muster a response. Even though she doesn't wrap an arm around his shoulders and pull him close, her presence has the same effect - the tense muscles in his body let loose like he's been shot with a tranquilizer gun. The type of loneliness that persists now is one that tricks him into believing he's uncared for, unworthy, and fated to be half empty.

Mental isolation isn't easily cured, but being with Maka helps.

"I had some coffee this morning and I thought of you," she begins, tucking her hands underneath her thighs. True to her aesthetic, she's dressed in a skirt that is an inch away from being deemed too short. It's a sign of his distress that even this doesn't manage to pause the storm of emotions maiming him.

Soul doesn't deserve to be on her mind, but he doesn't say this. He's forgotten how to speak.

She offers him a hand. It hurts. Why does she choose to be gentle with him when he's the one who ruined the beautiful thing they had? Accepting that she may genuinely care for him in spite of his flaws is difficult. Not letting people in, not believing the best in himself, and being afraid of reaching his full potential are what have defined him in the past. But does it have to carry over?

The edges of Maka's hand blurs. Maybe it's the tears. Maybe he's dissociating. An emergency alarm is going off inside him, and his body's shutting down, preparing for disaster by feigning calmness.

"It's okay to be nervous," she says softly. "Come with me?"

Cowering in a broom closet won't challenge his limits. Maka's not forcing him to go through with finishing the internship; she's only providing support despite their breakup. "Just because we broke up, doesn't mean I don't care about you," rings in his head like a mantra.

So he takes her hand. She may still be rightfully bitter and angry and hurt. Part of her may not be able to forgive him for trying to shove her toward Wes as a poorly conceived defensive mechanism, but all of him wants to be by her side, and if that means being on live TV, then so be it.

X

"I was so worried, I didn't think you were coming," Wes sighs in relief as Maka leads Soul onto the set. There is a flurry of movement: equipment being moved, lights turning on and off, crew members scuttling across the room. "Both of you."

"We're here now," Maka hums brightly.

"I can... see." Wes's eyes flicker to Maka and Soul's clasped hands. He doesn't rattle off anything about obeying the rules. Soul doesn't waste time wondering why - it's not like Wes would hand them pink slips at this very moment, five minutes before air time. He needs them to fulfill their duties. Come what may after the airing - if Soul survives.

Makeup artists frantically surround him, fast at work to make him camera-ready. Soul sweats so much that one of them chastises him for it. "I can't control my _glands_ ," he scoffs.

"You're going to have to," all of them reply simultaneously.

For an instant, Soul contemplates sprinting away. They couldn't all possibly catch him, right? His arms and legs are long, proportionate for someone of above average height, but he's not sure he's coordinated enough to maneuver around anyone that may try to tackle him into submission (Wes, Wes, Maka, Maka, and Wes). Staying put and going through with it seems to be his best option.

Controlling his limbs is impossible by the time he's directed to take his position behind the desk. Practice sessions with Wes weren't _horrible_ per say, but Soul walked away from those discouraging sessions with a sense of inevitable doom. It must reek off him like radiation because Maka - airbrushed to otherworldly perfection, her hair down and smoothed - angles her chair to face his instead of the camera.

"I'm so sorry," she says in a hushed tone. "I didn't keep my promise to you at all. I should've helped you - I was angry. I'm _so_ sorry."

Soul can't bear to look at her when she's the placing blame on herself; she is faultless, and she doesn't owe him anything. But she refuses to accept this when he croaks it out. He feels like he's hanging off a cliff, his desperate fingers slipping the harder he tries to hold on. When the camera woman begins to countdown the seconds until they're live, a blitz of hysteria overcomes him, and when he's coming down from the high, he's left unfeeling.

He's a marionette with no puppeteer.

Maka thrives off the challenge, though. "Hello, this is the channel five evening news. I'm Maka Albarn." She pauses; Soul's too disoriented to process that she halted the spiel Wes has them reading from the monitor to give Soul a chance for his introduction. About a second passes before she realizes that he's out for the count. She tries, bless her heart: "And this is my partner, Soul Evans."

" _Evans_?" a discombobulated voice from the crew half shrieks. "Like _Wes_ Evans? _"_

Beside Soul, Maka cringes. Even from his periphery, with all the too-bright lights blinding him, he can sense that the slip-up shakes her composure. She's not easily flustered, so this is physically painful to witness. "Uh, today's news…" Her chest rises and falls rapidly, breathing too erratically.

It would be irrational to believe that his stage fright has contaminated her - it isn't contagious, _it isn't contagious_ , it isn't - but nothing about any of the past four months has been rational. He's been holding her back, but now's his chance to use the moment to his advantage. "Breaking news: boyfriend who broke up with his girlfriend out of fear is regretful."

Maka's apprehensive gaze flits over to him. "Girlfriend doesn't understand," she says softly.

"Boyfriend, uh, thought he wasn't good enough. Thought he was going to lose her, so he broke up with her before it could happen. He's an idiot."

"He really _is!_ " But there is no rancor polluting her tone, though. She's taking deeper breaths, composing herself. "I think there's a chance of rain right now."

_Oh no_. "Like an angry storm with hail and flying objects, or a tragic one, or…?"

"A nice spring shower," she says, blinking back tears. It doesn't take much for her to gather her bearings. She clears her throat, shifts in her seat, and continues on, offering the camera a rejuvenated smile.

X

"That was a _disaster_ ," Maka wails as soon as they're off the set. But she looks at his sideways, smiling shyly. "But it was worth it."

Soul's coming down from his adrenaline rush, hands trembling. Maka steadies him by reaching out for his hand, guiding him down the stairs. Sitting next to her while she led the first segment of the news had numbed the negative thoughts throwing bricks at him. 'You're so useless' and 'you can't do anything right' didn't faze him as much as they normally might, all because he had depleted his energy baring his soul on live television. But his anxiety soars when he notices Wes making a bee-line for them.

"Into my office," Wes says, face stoic. The pair follow him out of the room, Wes beckoning Liz from her position behind the monitor. This may be the first time that Soul's stumped on how his brother feels, what he's about to do - Wes's anger is rarely sparked, but what if this is one of those moments?

He closes the door gently. "Elizabeth, what are the viewers saying?"

" _Liz_ , Wes," she corrects him, jumping up to sit on his desk, typing away furiously on her phone. "Gimme a minute."

Soul takes it as a bad sign that Wes doesn't glance at him or Maka. His tendency is to think the worst, of course, and he definitely hates thinking that his brother could be blood-pressure spiking _pissed_. This is his television station, after all, his work, his baby.

"I'm so _sorry_ , Wes," Soul says. It feels like his ribs are cracking. Disappointing his brother while simultaneously ruining his television station's reputation is his biggest regret in life thus far. "You don't have to say anything - just fire me."

"No!" Maka squeezes his hand. "Wes, don't fire Soul. I'm resigning as of right now. It's my fault that the evening news was messed up!"

Torment is apparent on Wes's face, but just as he opens his mouth, Liz pipes up. "Why don't you just hire _both_ of them?" She raises one eyebrow incredulously. "You can do whatever you want, Wes. You're the boss. Do whatever you want."

Wes freezes, eyes narrowed, chin rumpled. Evidently, from the way he seems to stop breathing, this idea isn't one that has crossed his mind. Part of Soul groans internally because he's sure Wes is going to adopt the idea, and another part of Soul wants to pop one of his lungs screaming. He and Maka have allotted so much _time_ and _effort_ and _arguments_ in their attempt to fumble through the internship, and Soul signed himself up for hell trying to make Maka look good. To hear a simple, hassle-free solution makes him want to rip his hair out one strand at a time.

"Yes, yes, this is a fantastic idea, Eliza-"

Soul and Maka both start: "What?"

" _LIZ,_ Wes, my name is _Liz!"_

"-And my little brother and his girlfriend Miss Maka can spend more time together!"

It's like being struck by lightning. "Girlfriend?" Soul chokes out.

For the second time in the span of a minute, Wes looks more confused than ever. "Yeah… You two made up just now, right? So it's back on? My SoMa ship must live on."

Soul scratches his head. He can feel the inkling of a migraine sneaking up on him. "I thought you liked Maka?"

Wes's eyes bug out almost comically. "What? No - I mean, she is very precious, but anyone with a brain could see that you two have a thing going on."

Liz is laughing to herself. "Yeah, just like _no one_ knew you and Soul are related. You two are practically twins. Everyone suspected… except Tsugumi, she's a little lost-"

Soul, still shell-shocked from Wes's response, ignores Liz's smartass comments. "Okay, but you were asking her out to dinner dates and practically stalking her!"

"You weren't talking about her, so I had to do my own investigating! Can you blame me for wanting to know my future sister-in-law?"

Maka half cries and half giggles, hiding her face behind her free hand. "I can't believe that everyone knew about us…"

"I can't believe you guys are this stupid," Liz mutters, shaking her head.

It's like a million ice cubes are being shoved down Soul's throat, because jolts of cold are shooting down to his stomach. In his humble, biased opinion, he and Maka had handled the situation with meticulous care - except for the two or three times they were caught in the act, but he's giving them a maximum of four freebies, because they avoided looking at each other for eight hours a day sometimes. How could it have been obvious?

"It was written all over your body language," Wes explains after taking a looking at Soul's face. "I might be your boss, but I'm also your brother. I've known you since before you were born. I _know_ you."

Soul can't speak fast enough. Starting an argument with Wes isn't his priority, especially when he's sort-of made up with Maka. They're the two most important people in his life, and it's like a knife to the gut any time he's at odds with them. But, Soul is physically incapable of letting the comment slide. "Wes, you _know_ I hate attention. Why would you make me go on live television?"

"I knew you could do it," Wes says simply, clapping a hand on Soul's shoulder. "I knew you could do it, and you did. I was a little worried you would have an anxiety attack on live television, but I also had faith that you're stronger than you think."

Typical Wes. His belief in Soul when Soul has below zero self confidence touches the part of him that craves love and affection. Little things like this truly mean the world to him, although his limited vocabulary prevents him from articulating this. All he can do is nod. Maybe later he'll yell at Wes ("don't ever make me face my fears ever again what is _wrong_ with you") but right now he's too choked up to fathom words.

And, Soul _is_ proud of himself. That in itself is a miracle. Feelings that don't pierce his organs are rare, but appreciated. Right now, as he stands numbly, hands locked with Maka's, everyone's eyes trained on him like he's a museum exhibit.

Breaking the awkward moment, Liz doesn't bother to glance up from her phone. "Our website is going crazy - the viewers loved them! Besides the few jokes about Soul's hiccups, everyone's saying they want the 'lovely couple' to stay. Hire _both_ of them, Wes… just don't let them be alone together."

"Why?" Wes starts to ask, but is interrupted by Soul hiccuping noisily. Wearing down Wes Evans isn't a difficult task when the well-being of his brother is concerned. He rubs the nape of his neck, scrunching his face in thought. "I guess I could just revoke the 'no office romance' rules just a bit…"

Behind Wes, Liz's eyes glimmer like sunlight hitting ocean waves. Soul considers warning his brother about his 'secret' admirer but decides in a split second that he shouldn't stand in the way of a potential relationship (or hookup). He'd bet his motorcycle that another office romance is on the horizon. Maybe he should make it his first task as an official employee to make 'please knock before entering' signs.

From beside him, Maka blushes vibrantly. "Thanks, Wes. For everything."

Ever the courteous gentlemen, Wes nods and bows, the corners of his lips twitching with the strain of smothering a smirk. Maka doesn't notice, too enthralled with ravenously searching Soul's face like she's reading her favorite book. She's tearing up the longer they stare at each other.

"This whole mess was a huge misunderstanding… We're all idiots," Maka laughs, sniffling. She glides the side of her index fingers along her under eye, wiping away silent tears, brave face activated, cheeks flushed with embarrassment and the special shade of pink that colors her creamy skin every time she leans in to kiss him.

Not this time, though. Soul Evans has learned a thing or four from her in their time together (and time apart, even if it was short-lived, thank goodness). Looking into her green eyes grants him courage that fills his energy reservoir. It happens in slow motion, as all life-changing moments do. His lips tingle and his heart beats like a slow drum, and all he can see is Maka and how her eyelashes catch the ray of light just perfectly when she blinks.

"I'm an idiot," Wes is mumbling to himself in the background. "Sign your names here and just kiss already. We have to practice for the morning news. Don't think I'm letting you two slide by without completing the project!"

The sound of papers shuffling don't distract Soul from cupping Maka's tear-streaked, blotchy face. Sealing the deal with Wes's television company can wait - he's on a mission: Screw Up, But Not Too Much. Not that he considers resting his forehead on Maka's a mistake, but it's definitely against company rules. Neither of them are sticklers, though. She poises her hand over his, gently worrying her bottom lip in anticipation.

Maybe pausing is a little too teasing (she wrinkles her nose for a second, a flash of impatience crossing her face). Soul finds too much enjoyment in teasing her, though, even if his nervousness can be blamed on her. She makes his stomach flop and his heart summersault, his veins constrict and he goes lightheaded.

He rests his forehead on hers. "I'm kinda nervous… Mind if we continue this when there aren't so many people around?"

"Of course," she says, sighing contently and closing her eyes. "We have a lot to talk about, anyway."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the end! thanks for reading. please let me know what you thought via comments, PM's, or anything else! thank you so much.


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